


Dare to Dance: Leave Shame at Home

by MarleyMortis



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anterograde Amnesia, Artist Bucky, Astronaut Steve, Bucky has health issues, Bucky's in a wheelchair, Care givers, Colostomy Bag, Disabilities, Falling In Love, Fighter Pilot Steve, Fluff, Hawaiian culture and customs, Incomplete Spinal Cord Injury, Learning to trust, Lu'au, M/M, Paraplegic Bucky, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Switch Bucky Barnes, Temporary Break Up, Traumatic Brain Injury, Wedding Lu'au, hula, modern-au, pre-Winter Soldier Bucky, some mentions of bullying, switch steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 86,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarleyMortis/pseuds/MarleyMortis
Summary: Having suffered an accident that left him with anterograde amnesia and an incomplete spinal cord injury, Bucky Barnes is determined to live his life to the fullest and meet the challenges of daily life head-on.Steve Rogers, marine biologist and a retired Space Airman who led a squadron of F40 Avengers to save New York from an alien invasion, isn’t sure how to move past war until he meets the vivacious Bucky.  He’s eager for a second date.  Trouble is, his date doesn’t seem to remember him.An AU based on the movie Fifty First Dates





	1. Steve Rogers And His No Good Rotten Maybe Awesome Meet Someone Great Day

The beach wasn't comforting that day despite bright sunshine baking the sand. Despite waves rolling in around his ankles. Even the playful cry of seagulls and the distant sounds of merriment from the boardwalk where tourists enjoyed their vacations were lost on Steve.

He kicked a bare foot through the foam, felt the sand shift beneath his feet as the retreating current pulled it from beneath him. But he couldn't feel the joyous laughter. He couldn't enjoy watching the teens and their volleyball game. All he could see was the flash of electric blue. All he could hear were the shrieks of New Yorkers fleeing around him.

Monsters had fallen from the skies that day. He could still see the hideous visage of an Other, of a Chitauri, screaming its fury in his face. Could still taste the acrid burn of electricity whenever their weapons discharged, making the fillings in his teeth ache in memory.

Everything had changed that day. When Steve, along with two squadrons of the Space Ready Airmen, had deployed in defense of Earth's sovereignty. The Howling Commandos, led by Captain Steve Rogers, and Shield, led by Captain Carol Danvers, had stood between humanity and subjugation.

Three years had passed since he could remember what peace felt like.

“Man, look at that gimp over there.” 

The kid's voice finally wrenched him from his thoughts, and he became aware of a volleyball rolling to a stop several feet away and the teen who rushed to grab it, but the guy wasn't talking about him.

“Why even bother?” asked the teen's friend.

“Anything like that ever happens to me? Shoot me dead, Man.”

Steve tracked their attention to a young man in a powered wheelchair. He couldn't have been more than twenty and was accompanied by a girl about his age and an adult male with a severe widow's peak. The guy parked out of reach of the surf and pushed himself onto shaky legs. A few steps ended in exhaustion, at which point, he became dependent on his companions to ferry him into the water.

A long sleeved shirt couldn't hide that one arm was significantly thinner than the other, as though much of the muscle mass had been excised. The rest of him appeared lean and in shape, but his Hawaiian caregiver remained close at hand once ocean water helped buoy his body.

Maybe it was rude, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the guy. The two moved about practicing different swim strokes. Kicking his legs and paddling against the current quickly wore the guy out, but he didn't give up. Neither did his smile waver. Something deep lurked beneath his eyes, a gritty determination that kept him from collapsing long past his endurance.

Further abuse from the teens returned his attention to the pricks. One of them heckled the man with taunts of “Run, Forest, run!” The other laughed along rather than calling out his friend.

“Show some fucking respect,” snarled Steve.

“Hey, Man. Can't you take a joke?”

“Able-bodied twerps jeering at someone getting some exercise isn't a fucking joke. You wanna back off? Or you want me to make you back off?”

“Dude.” The smaller of the two possessed some sense, as he raised both hands in surrender and prodded his companion away from Steve. “No harm. No foul.”

“Harm. And foul.”

He knew the moment the larger of the pair wised up to Steve's bulk, to the military precision with which Steve carried himself. The youth retreated. His heel caught on a clump of sand, causing him to nearly sprawl along the beach and was saved only by his friend's quick reflexes.

Steve watched them to ensure they intended to remain at the volleyball net with their cohorts before turning his attention back to the young man. For a brief moment, their glances snagged. The mirth, the brightness contained inside those pale eyes, made him feel like he'd been punched in the gut.

Slowly, a slight grin curling the man's mouth, the stranger nodded in appreciation of Steve's defense.

For his part, Steve pressed a hand against his heart to indicate his readiness to defend anyone being punched down toward. He never expected to see the handsome stranger again and allowed his gaze to wander briefly over the man's boyish frame, not yet filled to manhood but far from willowy youth.

The stranger cracked a smile and offered a vague salute with two fingers before his caregivers seized possession of his attention again as they brought out a ball to be tossed around.

Steve left feeling unsettled and dreamed that night about a pair of pale eyes and hands reaching toward him before the side of a building was sheared off by an alien whale. The last he saw was pale eyes plummeting toward the ground far below and the heavy weight of guilt heaped upon his own shoulders.

***

Needing a drastic change from his former career path—the SRA was a specialized division in the Air Force trained to pilot the F40 Avengers, a new breed of aircraft capable of space flight and designed to respond to intergalactic threats—Steve had fallen back on his second love: marine biology. His friend and roommate, Sam Wilson, liked teasing him about his odd combination of interests. Marine biology and a lucrative career in the Air Force didn't seem to go hand in hand, but he found something close to the peace much lacking in his life while working with marine animals.

So he had secured work at Sea Life Park: Hawaii, located in the southeast corner of Oahu. After retiring, he'd thrown himself into his new life, maybe not with a great deal of enthusiasm but with the standard work ethic that had seen him piloting a plane that had cost tax payers two hundred million dollars at the tender age of twenty-four. Getting a bunch of thirty and forty year olds to follow the commands of an upstart like Steve had taken some doing.

Compared to dog fighting aliens through the narrow streets of Manhattan, wrangling penguins and seeing to the needs of a staggeringly obese walrus named Jocko was cake walk. Or so his stress level insisted. He'd settled into his new life with something close to contentment.

Grabbing a bucket of fish from the department freezer, he paused a moment to massage his aching neck. He'd slept wrong last night and woke up with a neck ache the likes of which had left his head screaming for the better part of the day.

“You look like shit, Rogers,” Wilson said.

He turned to find his roommate leaning against the doorway, body covered in a smock dripping with seafood guts. Sam had lost the bet last week to determine which of the new recruits was responsible for prepping meals for the animals for the week. Steve fondly remembered graduating from that duty last year when he'd been promoted to team lead.

“Slept wrong. My neck's killing me.”

Fabric rustled. The next thing he knew, Sam had stripped off his smock and elbow-length gloves, and had turned Steve toward the wall. Warm fingers dug into the tendons along either side of his neck.

“Whoa!” Suddenly tense, he jumped away from the ministration. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up and praise the magic hands, Rogers.” Not to be out-flanked, Wilson took firm hold of his hips and maneuvered him the way his roommate wanted. “Loosen up, Man. I'm not trying to shove my dick in you.”

He froze once the touch returned but submitted to the ministrations. Men weren't physically affectionate in the military, not even after the repealing of DADT. The environment had been soaked in the kind of hyper-masculinity that made him incredibly aware of what affectionate behaviors “real” men were allowed. Hint: It didn't involve neck massages from your best friend.

“Maybe if you'd stop falling asleep in the recliner, you wouldn't wake up with your neck knotted tighter than a shoe lace.”

Steve shrugged. He winced when Wilson found an especially tender section of muscle and dug fingers there. Pain screamed up his neck. He swore he wouldn't be able to tolerate Sam's not-so-tender nursing another second. Next thing he knew, the muscle eased, and relief washed through his posture.

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. Take off early, Man. I'll hold down the fort.”

“No, I'm--” One look from Sam's soulful eyes made him stutter. He only had another hour and a half left of his shift anyway. “Fine.” He shoved the pail toward Sam. “Jocko needs his afternoon feeding, but don't let him pout you into giving him more than his allotted calories. That guy needs to lose some serious weight. And try to get him moving. He seems interested in the beach balls today.”

“You got it, Man.”

Steve only tarried long enough to remove his smock, stripping down to the base uniform of bland khakis and a polo shirt before jumping behind the wheel of his jeep. It was rare for him to feel like doing much of anything after work, but driving along the coast sounded like a good way to wind down.

Besides, he needed to make himself scarce for the afternoon. Peggy was visiting from England for the week, and their relationship was complicated. Peggy and he had dated for a while. She'd been part of the team that had accompanied him on his third jump to Mars. Sharon, Peggy's niece, had dropped into their laps six months after Sam and Steve had moved in together. 

A true Bohemian, the blond had traveled from England with zero money in her wallet and a student visa that had since expired. They'd found her sleeping on a park bench reeking of pot and dreaming of the slow life in Hawaii. Little had she known that being a tourist destination did not allow one to live the slow island life so many romanticized about.

They'd taken Sharon in, completely unaware of her relationship to Steve's ex, gotten her a job at a local food truck, and given her a place to lay her head at night. She'd since opened a successful food truck with her business partner, Luis, that specialized in Hawaiian and Mexican fusion food. The fact that she constantly smelled like jalapeno peppers and brought them leftovers from work had only a little to do with her continued presence in their apartment.

Tires crunched over gravel when Steve eventually stopped for an early dinner at the Hukilau Cafe. It was an old structure with a rusting metal roof perched right next to a quiet ocean inlet. A plethora of native plants dotted the landscape around the gravel parking lot. The place was practically empty, so he headed in to take a seat at the bar. A waiter greeted him and left him to look over the menu.

It wasn't until minutes later when he felt eyes drilling into the back of his head that he turned on his bar stool. To say that he was shocked to see the guy from the beach would have been an understatement. Admitting that he was even more attractive at closer range just wasn't happening.

He didn't know what prompted him to gather his menu and approach the stranger. Maybe it was a moment of insanity. Maybe it was the end of a stressful week. Whatever the reason, he was standing in front of the guy before his brain had given permission for his legs to carry him.

“Mind some company?”

The guy tore a piece from his waffle and propped it up to serve as a door for the little waffle house he'd created. Graham crackers served as the roof. “'S a free country.”

Taking that as permission—at least he hadn't been told to fuck off—he sat down on the bench across from the guy and watched him for a moment before introducing himself. “Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Your ma never told you it was rude to play with your food?” He meant for it to be mildly teasing, having forgotten the gruff quality of his voice these past few years didn't lend itself well to such.

“My ma left us when I was a baby.”

He waited for some further explanation or to see if Bucky might crack a grin. Neither happened. “That sucks.” Because the normal platitude of 'I'm sorry' had gotten hollow after losing his own mother to tuberculosis at the age of seventeen. Most people didn't die of TB after the invention of antibiotics, but she'd been hit with a super strain that hadn't responded well to treatment.

“She ran off with my dad's best friend after he caught them fucking in the house.”

“That's really rough.”

“Do you want to ask about my wheelchair?”

“No.”

A sable brow arched.

“We just met. You're not obligated to tell me personal shit. Just thought you might like some company. If you'd rather be alone, I can go.”

He was preparing to get up when Bucky's hand spanned the table and rested over his forearm. “What you did on the beach the other day. Thanks. There aren't a lot of people willing to step in these days.”

“It was--”

“Don't tell me it was nothing. Thirty people on that beach and you're the only one who said anything.”

Steve nodded to avoid downplaying his actions. Really, it hadn't been a big deal. What was lambasting two teens into treating someone with common dignity to a man like him? A man who had a good career, accomplishments, his health. People should stand up when they could.

“Do you know what I saw when I looked at you that day?”

“A guy in a wheelchair floundering in the ocean?” The corner of Bucky's mouth popped up.

“Saw a guy who was fucking smiling and having a good time.”

“It was a gorgeous day, wasn't it.”

The waiter interrupted their conversation to take Steve's order of lau lau, sticky rice, and purple sweet potatoes. He asked of Bucky wanted anything else since the waffles didn't seem to be of his liking. Bucky turned down the offer, but when Steve's food arrived, he proceeded to steal choice morsels from Steve's plate, enough so that Steve asked the waiter to bring them another roll of utensils.

They talked, and he liked the easy way Bucky carried himself. The man was quietly accommodating, easy to talk to without putting stress on the need to converse, and if they lapsed into silence now and then, it was no big deal. Either Bucky doodled on a place mat with his pencil or spent his time arranging items on the table. He seemed to have a special fondness for arranging things by size.

Bucky worked nearby at the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility teaching art classes. The man loved his work, but more importantly, he loved the kids, having a group of troubled kids come into his classroom and teaching them how to cope with various traumas and anger through art was something the man found extremely rewarding.

He lived with his father and sister in an old home on Maunalua Bay, and when the man allowed himself to get lost in telling stories about his family, Steve found himself enchanted by the obvious closeness between the three of them and their large and loud extended network of uncles and grandparents. Coming from a tiny family made up of himself and his mother meant he had no idea what it was like sharing such close bonds with so many different people, and he found himself fascinated.

After a while, the conversation came to a natural conclusion, but Steve was flabbergasted to glance at his watch and realize he'd spent three hours in the restaurant talking with the other man. He also realized he was reluctant to leave and never have this kind of easiness again.

“This will seem forward, and you can tell me to fuck off if I'm reading things wrong, but do you date men? I would like to ask you on a proper date.”

Bucky smiled up at him. “I was hoping you'd ask.” The man pulled a phone from a messenger bag draped across his wheelchair, and they exchanged numbers. “You should know that I'm saving you under 'Steeb.'”

“I'm saving you under 'Buckin' Bronco.'”

“Hey, now. Don't you think you should let me earn that nickname first?” Bucky's teeth sank into his full bottom lip, and he smiled around it.

Steve felt his knees go weak and a bloom of heat pool in his loins. Which was naturally when Bucky got a call and then quickly excused himself from the restaurant with an earnest goodbye and promises to call soon to set up a real date. He successfully conquered the desire to offer Bucky assistance, but the man had obviously gotten there on his own and could likely get back wherever he was going without needing to be coddled.

Still, when Bucky leaned across the table and kissed Steve's cheek, Steve wanted to cradle the spot of warmth close, to never forget what it felt like to have such lips caress his skin. He was struck stupid and almost missed the wary glances he received from the woman behind the counter.

He watched the other man drive his wheelchair up a ramp into a van where he parked and stabilized himself behind the hand controls. The last thing he saw of him was Bucky waving out the window with his damaged left arm as his van disappeared from the parking lot.

Steve melted into the backrest of his bench seat and fanned himself.

***

Going about his daily life became a test of patience as he waited for Bucky's call. Sam took to teasing him. Even the mild-mannered Luis, who seemed to spend more time at their apartment than anywhere else, wound up taking part in the game. Steve batted their insults aside in favor of lurching for his phone every time it beeped or rang. None of those times were from Bucky, and it was becoming increasingly obvious the guy had blown him off.

A week and a half later, Sam confronted him with accusations of 'sour puss' and even enlisted Jocko's help in cheering him up. Finally, he'd had enough, though, and suggested that Steve be the one to open communication between them. After all, given the nature and extent of Bucky's disabilities, he might be shy over the idea of asking out an able-bodied man like Steve.

So he finally broke down and sent a quick text message that consisted of “This is Steve. From the Hukilau. Had a great time last week and wanted to see if you wanted to get together again.”

The message he got back wasn't very encouraging. Bucky texted, “Sorry, who is this? I think you might have the wrong number.”

“Is this Bucky?” asked the next text.

“Yes.”

“We had dinner at the cafe last week and met at-- You know what, never mind. Obviously I didn't leave a very good impression. Take care, Bucky.”

“'Kay. Bye then.”

Steve's broad shoulders slumped, and he sat down next to Jocko. Not even the giant walrus would have anything to do with him, though, as he turned his attention toward preening for the lady walruses out enjoying their aquatic environment.

After a while, he left the enclosure to go about his duties, spending the afternoon with Willie, a Humboldt penguin they often used in demonstrations. Willie had the mild, curious temperament that made him suited to wandering around the park and allowing strangers to fawn over him. 

Last year, he'd hated that aspect of work. Interacting comfortably with people would never be amongst his good qualities, but he'd grown accustomed to answering their questions. His boss, Hope, had put together a list of amusing facts he could relate about penguins, and he had just gotten done joking about penguins sneezing out sea water from their supraorbital gland when he saw a group of young adults at the outskirts of his audience.

They all wore shirts bearing the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility logo and were accompanied by several adults. One happened to be Bucky, a sketch pad open on his lap that displayed rough sketches of Willie and Steve.

Steve's mouth turned down. He answered a few more questions and allowed a couple of children to interact with Willie before breaking away to approach the man. His shadow fell across Bucky, causing him to look up with a warm smile.

“Hi.” Bucky focused on his name tag. “Mr. Rogers. That was a great presentation.”

“You don't have to do this. We had dinner one time. You don't need to pretend like we've never met.”

“I'm sorry, I don't...” The other man floundered for a moment.

“Just stop. I thought we had chemistry, but it's clear whatever it was isn't enough for you. That's fine, but don't treat me like I'm fucking invisible.”

Before Bucky could respond, a woman hurried forward and inserted herself between Bucky and Steve. She was exceptionally tall and ripped with muscles. Her hair was military short, and she wore a t-shirt with the Army Reserves logo.

“Back off.”

Some part of him wanted to raise fucking hackle, because Bucky might have disabilities, but he sure as fuck didn't need a protector, but the better part managed to clamp down on his anger and take a step back. Out of respect for her service in the military more than anything else.

She crouched beside Bucky's wheelchair and settled a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah, I'm perfectly fine.” He flashed a quick smile. “This guy just mistook me for someone else. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that you were hurt by someone. That's never a fun feeling.”

And Steve was back to flabbergasted.

The woman pushed to her feet and lowered her voice. “Not that you deserve an explanation, but my brother suffers anterograde amnesia from a traumatic brain injury. But you can go on acting like a gigantic ass if you so desire.”

“Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” He retreated a few steps to take himself out of their personal space and allowed himself a moment of silence to feel like a complete ass. Then, with more sincerity and less shock, he glanced at Bucky. “I'm sorry.”

Bucky considered his apology for a moment before nodding to accept it. “Takes a special kind of person these days to admit when they're wrong and apologize. Bucky Barnes.” He extended a hand.

It was more automatic than anything else when Steve shook his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“This is my sister, the Baconator.”

The woman scoffed and elbowed her brother's shoulder. “Rebecca Barnes.”

“There's a story there, I'm sensing,” Steve said.

“My sister once won an eating contest that involved putting away Wendy's Baconators. Dad rolled her out of the venue in an office chair afterward.”

The absurdity of the conversation coupled with Bucky's vivacious expression made Steve chuckle. Willie tugging at his lead brought his attention back to their surroundings, and he crouched in front of Bucky's wheelchair to urge Willie closer.

“Let me introduce you to our Humboldt penguin, Willie.” He carefully lifted the penguin onto Bucky's lap after Rebecca cleared it of the sketchpad and pencils.

Willie, dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt, squawked and flared his flippers, and Bucky laughed.

“Can I pet him?”

“Sure. Be mindful that you stroke with the lay of the feathers instead of against it.”

More of that barely-veiled zest for life leaked from the man when the pads of his fingers tentatively stroked along Willie's plumage. The affection caused Willie to trill. Bucky lit up even more.

They shared a long glance, Steve and Bucky, with Bucky's glance roaming over Steve's face. It ended in something akin to a shy smile and the brief touch of the man's fingertips against Steve's cheek bone before he seemed to realize that his group was moving on without him.

“Crap, I have to go. We're on a field trip with some of the kids.”

The spell broken, Steve pushed back to his feet and collected Willie. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bucky.” He turned his attention to Rebecca with a brief nod. “Ma'am.”

He watched the pair move off trailing their tour group. A jolt of warmth pierced his stomach when Bucky turned back to look at him once more. That man's smile could warm an iceberg.


	2. King Namor And The Road Rage Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is never speaking to Alani again after they run into Steve at Sea Life Park; He really is not. At least not until tomorrow.

Bars of sunlight bled through the blinds over his window. Buck batted at the light as though to shoo away a fly but soon gave up to greet the dawn. He stretched. Arms reached overhead to press hands against his padded headboard. Something was wrong. One arm didn't press the same way.

Conscious of the strangeness, he threw off the blanket and attempted to swing his legs over the edge of his bed. His legs didn't move. His breathing quickened. He tried again. One leg shifted minutely. Why couldn't his legs move?

“Dad!” In a blind panic, he cried out for his father.

Somewhere deeper in the house, a door opened and mismatched footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Why wouldn't his legs move? His legs weren't moving. He was moving them in his mind, but they weren't responding with more than twitches.

“Dad!”

His bedroom door flew open. George Barnes rushed inside, body propelled with an uneven gait. A breath later, his father perched on the side of his mattress and wound strong arms around his shoulders. “You're okay, Buck. I've got you. You're okay.” And if his father was a little breathless, Bucky had no idea the cause.

“My legs won't move.” Desperate, he glanced up into his father's face seeking answers.

“I know, Son.” Broad palms smoothed down Bucky's back. “There was an accident. We were in an accident, Champ. Your spine was injured. You hit your head.”

“I don't remember. Dad, I'd remember.”

“Here. Do you feel this?” Dad's hand guided Bucky's fingers to his skull.

Buried beneath the thick hair was a protrusion that shouldn't be there, that hadn't been there the day before. It was a metal plate. There was a metal plate in his head, and he didn't remember how it had gotten there or why it was there. For all he knew, aliens could have abducted him.

“An accident.”

“God, Champ.” George buried his lips in his son's hair to muffle his own distress.

Bucky glanced toward the doorway where he spied movement only to see Becca hovering outside looking acutely dejected, but he couldn't worry about her state of mind when he was just now finding out he'd been in an accident, couldn't walk, and had a metal plate on his skull. Instead of calling her in, he buried his face in his dad's chest and shuddered through the emotional upheaval.

By the time the anxiety passed, his eyes were swollen, and he'd soaked his dad's shirt with tears and snot, but at least he could put a sliver of distance between them. He looked up to find Becca in the room with them. She'd settled a thick binder on the bed, the cover open to reveal a series of journal entries scattered amongst various mementos. 

Two ticket stubs to a Kaleo concert were taped next to his chicken scratch writing describing an evening spent with Alani, his childhood friend, at The Republik in Honolulu. He didn't remember. Kaleo was his favorite band, but he couldn't remember having seen them live. Beside the ticket stubs was a photo of him with his art students at the correctional facility. They were gathered around him with smiling faces welcoming him back to work.

Swallowing heavily, he eased his grip on his father and flipped through the pages one at a time.

“You've had memory problems since the accident,” Becca informed him. “Sometimes you wake up and don't remember anything after that day. Sometimes you remember things for a few days only to sleep and forget.”

He came to the last page that contained a photo of him with a penguin on his lap. A dishwater blond wearing a Sea Life Park shirt crouched beside him. Bucky had written. _'Me with Steve Rogers and Willie, the penguin. Becca teased me all evening for thinking Stevie's a hunk.'_

Sometime around breakfast, it dawned on him that he could either spend the rest of his day moping about his condition or he could get on with life and do the things he was still capable of doing. No one would blame him for moping. They would say _'poor Bucky Barnes and his broken brain'_ or _'if that ever happens to me, just shoot me.'_

Well, Bucky decided he didn't want to be shot. He still had one and a half arms. He could still make art. He could still teach his classes at the correctional facility. And there was some sensation left in his lower extremities. According to his medical records, he probably wouldn't ever regain full use of his legs, but he didn't have it nearly as bad as someone with a complete spinal cord injury.

So he ate breakfast, learned how to change his colostomy bag, and packed for the beach. According to his journal, he spent three days a week doing outdoor physical therapy with Alani, and his physical therapist, a guy named Namor McKenzie. Pictures of the guy weren't very encouraging. He had a scowl that could cut through ice.

Namor and Alani arrived right on time, and Dad and Becca saw him out the door and into the van they'd converted to allow him some independence. The only compromise he made was allowing Mr. McKenzie to install the normal seat behind the wheel and drive, but by that point, Bucky could feel a headache blooming up the back of his skull and figured driving was too much trouble that day.

Alani locked his chair into place in the back of the van and flopped beside him. “Bad day?”

“So they tell me. I didn't remember the accident when I woke up this morning.”

She offered one of her kind smiles and squeezed his wrist. “We'll see if we can't make you feel better before dropping you back off. So, Tutu's wedding.”

He tried not to allow the confusion to show. “Your grandmother is getting married?”

“I know, right? Since you're part of our ohana, you should come. Can we write the date down in your journal? Mom and Dad insist on throwing Tutu and her fiance a wedding lu'au, so don't forget to bring a dish. Oh! You could ask your dad to make the Barnes Family Cheesecake. And bring a date.”

Bucky couldn't help the blush coloring his cheeks. “A date?”

“Yes. A date. Am I speaking Japanese or something?” She nudged him with her elbow, and when another driver paused at an intersection to allow Namor to turn first, she curled three fingers against her palm, leaving the thumb and pinkie extended to present the driver with a shaka.

“I don't know who I'd ask.”

“Come on, Buck. Hot guy like you must be beating them off with a stick.”

“Dates kinda expect to be remembered, though.”

Another car came screaming through the intersection just as they were about to turn. Namor laid on the horn, rolled down his window, and roared, “Learn to drive, you base cretin!”

Alani, glancing over at Bucky with raised brows, mouthed, “Base cretin?”

The offending driver slammed on his brakes in the middle of the busy street and got out of his car, stomping back toward the van. Alani and Bucky grabbed onto each other. The last thing they wanted was to be seen on the six o'clock news in one of those road rage pieces that were becoming so popular.

“What did you call me?”

Namor rolled his window down the rest of the way. “A base cretin.”

Flummoxed, the guy clearly wasn't sure what to make of the term. Didn't seem to know if it was an insult given Namor's hoity-toity delivery. “Why don't you step out of the van and say that to my face?”

Namor chuckled. He chuckled and bumped the back of his hand against the man's chest. “Look at the brave peacock, ready to prove himself a man with his brave peacock plumage. I require no display of machismo to know my worth exceeds yours. Save yourself the trouble, my good man.”

Which only infuriated the driver further. “Get out of the fucking car. Let's settle this like men.”

The put-upon sigh that escaped Namor couldn't have been more resigned. Finally, he opened the driver side door and unfolded his six foot five inch frame. Muscle corded his body. Veins stood out along his forearms. His legs planted against the pavement, and the first moment of fear entered the other driver's expression, who took a step backward in an effort o reassert his personal space.

“Shall we, then?” Namor straightened his shoulders. “The first swing is yours. Make it count. You will get only one. You will aim for my face. I will duck out of your way. Your knuckles will break against the frame of my vehicle. Then I will put you on the ground. You will choke on asphalt, be taken to the hospital, and tell your friends five guys attacked you in an alley, but inside, you will know it was one. Just one. Vastly your superior. Who warned you ahead of time that you were beneath him. Choose. Violence and defeat or common sense.”

The guy stuttered something, but by that point, other drivers were laying on their horns to show their irritation. A cop had taken notice and flicked on his lights to approach the situation. It was incentive enough for the guy to back off with the parting shot, “You're lucky that cop was here!”

Namor laughed and climbed back into the van.

And just like that was a normal occurrence, Alani and Bucky went back to their previous conversation.

“What about that hunk you met at the Hukilau? You said he asked you on a date.”

“The only thing I know about him is that his name's Steeb. Or some variation thereof. You can't expect me to call up a total stranger and ask him to go to your tutu's wedding lu'au.”

“Why not? You said he was dreamy.”

“Alani, leave him be,” Namor said from behind the wheel as he steered the van into a parking spot.

“Yeah. Leave me be. Your tutu won't care if I'm there without a date. She'll be far too busy kissing her new wife.” His brow furrowed momentarily. “She is marrying Sophie Winchester, right?”

Alani released a dreamy sigh. “Sophie Winchester. When I'm old and gray, I hope to be able to get someone half as lovely as Sophie.”

Bucky laughed and pitched his empty coffee cup at her before activating the door and extending the ramp down which he drove his wheelchair. There was nothing like the ocean. Dad used to tease him that he'd been born in the ocean with a merman tail. He could vaguely recall waking up after the initial accident being terrified that he'd never go in the water again, especially after the colostomy procedure.

He needn't have worried, though. He would have moved the heavens to get back into the water. Using a waterproof barrier to attach the ostomy bag around his stoma was the least of the things he would have done to get back to that particular joy. He didn't wait for Namor or Alani to get out the rest of their supplies before heading toward the surf.

The beach was busy that day, filled with local tourists and teenagers free from school for the summer holidays, so some part of him felt the sting of becoming a public spectacle. Everyone's attention turned toward the guy in a wheelchair with only one good arm to speak of. Squaring his shoulders, he ignored the glances and parked himself near the surf where Alani and Namor caught up with him.

After looking at his medical records, Bucky figured it was something of a miracle that he had any sensation left in his legs at all. The fact that he could stand up and take several steps before they became too weak to support his weight was a blessing. Namor being a hard-ass wasn't.

There was a man who didn't know the meaning of the term “positive reinforcement.” It was all “Ten more steps, Barnes.” And “Are you a jellyfish or a man? Grow a spine and pick your feet up.” And “I did not subject myself to base animals by leaving Atlantis Institute for you to show your weakness. Swim for another twenty minutes.”

Logically, he knew those steps would give him a better chance of walking again and certainly kept his leg muscles from atrophying, but by the time they were done, he was drenched in sweat and felt weak as a newborn kitten. It didn't take much pouting, therefore, to get Alani to talk Namor into stopping by Sea Life Park so he could get some photographs of the sea turtle exhibit.

And perhaps it had something to do with that blond hunk who'd introduced him to Willie. Because when Bucky caught sight of him moving around near the penguin exhibit, his heart picked up its pace. To be fair, the guy was incredible to look at. The way Steve's polo shirt stretched across broad shoulders, how the sun glistened on droplets of sweat gliding down tanned skin made Bucky's jeans uncomfortably tight. 

The sensation resulted in a cocked brow and a glance centering on his crotch. Apparently his dick could still stand at attention. Didn't matter that a guy as attractive as Steve Rogers likely wouldn't contemplate going out with a paraplegic with a host of memory problems. Shitting through his stomach and into a bag didn't lend itself toward sexiness. But a guy could dream, right?

So being attracted to Steve had nothing to do with how his heart pitter-pattered when the guy smiled and waved. Bucky, being the incredible dork he was, looked over his shoulder to make sure the guy wasn't waving to some hot thoroughbred behind him. Nope. Nothing there but a couple of tiki statues clearly created to cater to the tourist industry.

He lifted a tentative hand and waved back.

Alani was quick to make him regret the action when she caught site of it. The brat had zero scruples, and no matter how much he hissed at her to stop, she jogged over toward the penguin enclosure to speak to the guy. Looking pleased with herself, she returned moments later.

“What did I tell you, Alani? Do not embarrass me, or I swear--”

“Bucky, hi!” Steve exited the penguin enclosure and jogged to catch up with them.

Bucky's grimace toward his friend could only be called murderous. “Mr. Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

His dad hadn't raised an animal, so he plastered a smile in place. “Steve. Aloha.”

“Ms. Ryan said there's something you wanted to ask me.”

Alani was dead. She was so dead. “Yeah. Actually. I teach an art class--”

“Bucky is coming to my tutu's wedding lu'au, and he wanted to know if you'd like to be his date.”

She was so, so dead. And possibly would never be his friend again.

Steve looked taken aback by the comment. “You wanted to--”

“Yes,” Bucky cut in because as much trouble as Alani was in, he wouldn't make her into a liar. “To the wedding lu'au. You and me. As a date. I am so sorry. I'm bad at this, and this is probably super weird for you. And if you didn't want to come, that's completely fine. I understand that this is a lot to take in.” He indicated the wheelchair and his general state of being.

Steve surprised him by saying, “Bucky, I'd love to.”

“I'm sensing a 'but' coming.”

“No 'buts.' If you'll have me, I'd love to go to the lu'au with you.”

He was pretty sure the mega-watt grin that lit up his face could be seen from the International Space Station. A sudden surge of affection made his chest ache. “That's great! Here, let me get your number, and I'll text you the details.”

“Actually, you should already have my number. I think you said you listed it under Steeb.”

“Wait, you're Steeb?”

“We had dinner--”

“At the Hukilau,” Bucky finished while fishing his phone from his messenger bag. He changed the name 'Steeb' with 'Steve Rogers' and made a note in his contact information that they had a date.

“Right,” Alani cut in. “So, the wedding is next month with the lu'au right after at my grandmother's house. Bucky will pick you up, and you should definitely bring a covered dish. Never show up to a traditional lu'au without a covered dish. It's bad manners.”

Steve scuffed the toe of his sneaker across the concrete. “Should I text you a reminder the day of? In case-- Your-- I think your sister said you have a form of amnesia?”

“I have trouble retaining memories after the day of the accident.”

“I'll make sure he writes it down in his journal. He reads that every morning, and let me give you my number just in case.” Alani exchanged numbers with Steve.

“Can I text you later?” asked Steve.

“Of course.”

“Great. Look, I have about three dozen penguins that are gonna murder me in my sleep if I don't get back and feed them, so I'll text you at some point to see how you are.”

“Wouldn't want my date to get eaten before the wedding, right?” Bucky flashed a grin and waved his fingers at Steve, who turned away and damn near walked into a trash can before realizing it was there and evading collision. Seeing someone so gorgeous and graceful be clumsy made Bucky giggle.

***

His headache hadn't gone away by the time Alani and Namor dropped him off, so he'd napped for part of the afternoon, long enough for it to be time to take his evening pain medication. As the day wore on, some part of him tightened with anxiety, aware that he would in all likelihood wake up tomorrow with a repeat performance of today. He would sleep. He would wake up terrified that his legs didn't work properly, and he would spend the better part of the morning catching up by way of his journal.

Frustrated, he slapped the pen down on his desk and buried his face in both hands. A new picture was taped among the pages. It was one Alani had taken of Steve agreeing to be his date. He'd jotted down _'Steve Rogers is your date to Tutu Ryan's wedding. You've been on one date with him at the Hukilau. He seems so sad. Like his eyes have seen too much. Try to cheer him up.'_

He'd just picked up the pen to make a few more notes when raised voices reached his ear. Dad and Becca were arguing again. They tried to keep their voices down so as not to disturb him, but if he strained hard enough, he could make out what they said.

“It's not a good idea for him to see this man,” Becca said.

“What's he supposed to flipping do, Becs? Live like a hermit the rest of his life? He's twenty gosh darn years old. He should have dates. No one would bat a doggone eye if he had people lined up down the street wanting to date him if it weren't for the accident.”

“Yeah, and we both know it's gonna take a special kind of person to commit to him for any length of time.” Bucky could just imagine Becca cutting her hand through the air. She was always so non-verbally expressive when she was keyed up.

“We'll never know if this Rogers guy is the right flipping guy unless we give him a chance. He might surprise us, but you, you'd rather give up before they even get a chance.”

“Come on, Dad. That guy is a goddamn mess. Captain Steve Rogers, former flight commander of the Howling Commandos. They ran thirty-six space missions and were instrumental in Earth's defenses during the Invasion of New York.”

“You'd think that would be a good thing, Becs. Proof that he's a stand-up guy. He's a bleeping war hero, but you wanna condemn him before he's even got his foot in the door.”

“You didn't see how aggressive he was with Bucky at the aquatic park. Guy like Rogers, he's gotta have a host of PTSD issues. He has an arrest record littered with misdemeanor assault and battery charges. Is that the kinda guy you want cuddling up to Bucky?

“Bucky's so goddamn sensitive. He has a beautiful spirit, and I'm not gonna let some ex-military hot head hurt him.”

“Stop talking about me like I'm not even home!” Bucky shouted from the back of the house. “It's my decision whether or not I date Steve. Nobody else's.”

The resounding slam of his bedroom door halted the furtive argument. Moments later, footfalls padded down the hallway and his dad knocked on the door. Bucky grumbled but gave him permission to enter.

“I'm sorry, Champ. You weren't supposed to hear that.”

“Obviously.” He sounded sullen at best. 

“Becca just wants to protect you, you know.”

“There's a difference between protect and smother.”

“I know that. You know that. It's just harder for Becca. She watched both of us fight for our lives in the hospital and took on so much of the household responsibilities when we were recovering. Your sister loves you so very much. Both of us. We just have to be patient with her.”

“I'm going to the lu'au with Steve whether she likes it or not.”

“Of course. Bucky, it's your life. You need to do what will make you happy, but Champ, you've gotta be prepared. There are a lot of people who will disappoint you, not because there's anything wrong with you but because they don't have the strength of character to be with someone as special as you.”

Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Stop blowing smoke up my skirt, Dad.” 

He could see the moment his dad realized that Bucky understood the gravity of his situation and how it would affect his life, his love life in particular. The man's gruff exterior softened. Sympathy crinkled his eyes. Bone deep acceptance that his son wasn't naive and couldn't let himself dream that a prince or princess charming would show up one day and whisk him away to a fairy tale castle.

It hurt Bucky seeing his dad go through the realization that his son wasn't innocent anymore, almost more than knowing there wouldn't be a wedding march for Bucky Barnes. Just meant he would need to find ways of fulfilling his own life instead of waiting around for someone to help. He found no worth in wallowing in his own self-pity, so he smiled and mock-punched his dad in the arm.

“Stop scowling. Your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

***

The next morning was a good day. By good, he meant that he woke up knowing his legs didn't work, that an accident had resulted in drastic changes to his carefree youth, and that Dad walked with a prosthetic. Sometimes that fact tore him up more than his own injuries. People forgot that Dad was suffering in many more ways than Bucky considering his father had been behind the wheel that day.

Just a few moments were allotted to finish waking up and find the motivation to get started. He didn't have a headache and felt ready to go to work, so Bucky eased himself from bed into the wheelchair, no small feat given his weakened left arm. He changed his colostomy bag, using press and seal paper and adhesive tape to keep the new bag and wafer dry. He then transferred himself into the seat bolted in his shower to freshen up.

His room was the master suite with an attached bath that had once belonged to his father. The accident, though, prevented him from using the stairs readily, and with no way to install an elevator, they'd wound up switching rooms. It felt weird, he could admit, to take his father's place in the family home, but Dad had insisted. Just one more thing they'd needed to change to make the house accessible.

Out in the kitchen, he could hear Becca and Dad starting in on each other again. Becca wanted to go to a cookout Joe Adachi, a member of her Reserve unit, was hosting, but it fell on the same day as Bucky's next appointment with the neurologist. Those appointments always wore him out, and Dad had trouble navigating him and getting him settled in the house afterward.

The argument ended with a pointed “What the Hell are you gonna do when my unit gets deployed? How the Hell are you gonna take care of him when I can't be around? We need to find him a home health aide” and a slam of the kitchen door.

Wild horses couldn't make him let on that he'd overheard. He loved Becca to bits, and deep down, he knew that she loved him. But her life and dreams for the future had ended the day of that accident. She'd already compromised by joining the Reserves instead of the military the way she'd always wanted, so this further sacrifice ate away at her independence. He knew it. He just couldn't do anything about it. Because she was right. Dad couldn't take care of him by himself.

Bucky grabbed a pamphlet sitting on his desk advertising Pleasant Ridge, a board and care group home for disabled individuals. He would have his own room but also access to all the help needed for his continuing care. The worst, he thought, was waking up disoriented. He couldn't live on his own when he woke up unable to remember anything beyond the accident.

Pleasant Ridge was one option. There were more expensive facilities, but despite how good his insurance was, they wouldn't pay for an assisted living program. He would have to pay for that out of his part-time wages from the correctional facility. Which meant finding somewhere that charged based on his level of income.

He wiped away the stray tears wetting his face and tucked the pamphlet into his messenger bag so he could call at work. No sense getting Becca's hopes up if the facility was full.

“Bucky, breakfast!” his dad called from the kitchen.

He maneuvered his chair down the hall—it had cost upwards of three thousand dollars have the hallway widened enough for him—and into the open concept kitchen and great room. His smile was likely wane given the sympathetic look Dad gave him.

“Bad morning?”

“No. Just tired. I didn't sleep well.”

“Did you take one of those sleeping pills Dr. Barton prescribed?”

“They make me too groggy the next day. Gotta be able to work some time.”

“Hey.” Dad crouched in front of his chair and grabbed his knees. “Champ, I don't want you to worry about that, okay? It's great that you have a job, and that you love what you're doing, but I don't want you to think that it's not enough. Everything's gonna be taken care of.”

He pushed his dad's hands off his knees. “I don't want to talk about your life insurance policy.”

Dad held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Let's just get you fed so you can get to work.”

He rolled up to the table and waited for Dad to put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. Just the way he liked them, dry and drizzled with ketchup. “Let Becca go to her cookout.”

“Son--”

“Please don't. Just let her go. I'll see if Alani can go with us to the appointment that day.”

“Becca has a responsibility to this family.”

“Becca's twenty-eight years old, Dad. Her responsibility ended when she turned eighteen. Let her go. I'll find someone else who can help us.”

Since it was a good day, he insisted on driving himself to work, but Namor had forgotten to remove the stationary seat behind the wheel, so Dad had do it for him. Meanwhile, Bucky sat looking out toward the pier stretching into the bay where Becca stood with both hands threaded through her hair. They were both miserable. He was making them miserable, adding to the stress in Becca's relationship with Dad. It seemed clear how he could change the dynamic and make them happier.

Dad finished with the seat, and Bucky drove his chair up inside the van to park behind the wheel.

“Call if you need anything, Champ.” Dad passed a soft-bodied cooler bag through the window. “I packed you some lunch. Go knock 'em dead, Kiddo.”

Smiling, he pressed a quick kiss to his dad's cheek before heading out.


	3. Sharon Carter: Unauthorized Pharmaceutical Counter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go on a date to a wedding lu'au.

“What are you making?” Sharon's voice was full of disgust when she padded barefoot into the kitchen to find him slopping pudding into a store bought pie crust. She gathered her long dreads into a tail at the back of her neck and wrapped it in a scrunchie.

“It would seem obvious to the basest of intelligence that I'm making a pudding pie. And then covering it with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Because it's supposed to be for a wedding lu'au.”

A scoff. Followed by gagging noises. Then Sharon asked, “Whose wedding lu'au, and why do you hate them enough to give them a pudding pie?”

“Don't know. My date tomorrow is taking me.”

“You.” She paused. “Have a date.” Another pause. “With a human being.”

“What? I date!”

“Name one date you've been on in the past six months.”

Coming up with a name should be easy, but the more he thought about it, the more it eluded him. Finally, an answer materialized. “Juanita Martinez.”

“That was seven months ago. You complained the whole time about missing Criminal Minds. And the only reason you took her out was because she's Luis' cousin and he threatened to spit in your food truck orders if you didn't cooperate.”

Okay, she had him there.

He finally turned and shot her an icy look that used to freeze recruits in their steps. Sharon did little more than arch a blond brow and prop a hip against the counter. He'd forgotten that it was nearly impossible to ruffle her feathers, a fact over which he was becoming increasingly irritated.

“Well, I have a date tomorrow.”

“What's their name?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Did you twist Mr. Barnes' arm into going out with you.”

“I'll have you know he asked me. Or rather, his friend asked me.”

Finally, a gusty sigh escaped, and she hip-checked him out of the way. “You are not taking a prepackaged pudding pie to a wedding lu'au. Shove over and watch the master work.”

More than happy to delegate his responsibilities to a food truck owner, he padded to retrieve two beers from the kitchen, a Miller Lite for him and some pretentious microbrewery label for Sharon. For someone who'd been living on a park bench not too long ago, she had expensive tastes. He blamed it on her aunt Peggy, whose gaze had the power to freeze him dead in his tracks.

After popping open and taking a chug of his beer, he padded toward the archway leading into the great room, intending to leave her to her miraculous creations. He didn't make it that far. She snagged her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him back.

“You don't get off that easily, Friend.”

He pulled against her hold only to find her fingers digging into his sides and causing Steve to bust into a fit of giggles. “Stop! No tickling. This is a tickle free zone.”

“Unless you want to spend the rest of the week hiding, I suggest you plop yourself there and help. It's your date, after all.”

They spent the afternoon together mixing dough, baking cake balls, and dipping them in white chocolate. He'd forgotten what it felt like to do something as mundane as preparing food. He'd forgotten how easy it was to spend time with Sharon and her lack of expectations, how easy it was for her to pull laughter from him on days when he felt melancholy.

Which was why it was so damn hard when the flash of lightning and crack of thunder outside made him feel, if even for a few moments, that he was back in New York in the middle of a dogfight against alien plasma canons that flashed with the intent to kill. His heart skipped several beats. A clammy sweat prickled his skin, and he remembered the tightness in his chest when orders demanded he save the governor's convoy while ignoring the hapless people screaming for their lives. 

Choosing between the thirty people in the convoy and the thousand holed up inside Grand Central should have been easy. Disobeying director orders while in the field, however, was not so easy a thing to contemplate. By the time the Howlies had covered the governor's convoy to a safe location and had swung their planes around to return, Grand Central had been little more than rubble. Over a thousand lives had been snuffed out because he hadn't been fast enough. Or brave enough.

“Steve.”

Sharon's voice yanked him back to the present. He dashed away the tears on his cheeks.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

“You want something to help you relax?”

Blanketing the remnants of anxiety and guilt with drugs was tempting. Sharon could get him anything he wanted: weed, Xanax, sleeping pills. For a while after his retirement, he had turned to those things to help him cope and could still remember the long slog toward sobriety. Falling off the wagon was just shy of not being worth the pain of detoxing and the way drugs had nearly wrecked his life.

He shook his head, so she dropped hers against his shoulder and nuzzled there for long moments. His cell phone disrupted the moment, and he hurried to check the incoming message from Alani, who texted to confirm the date tomorrow night.

***

Being out of the dating loop for some time meant he hadn't necessarily kept abreast of current dating fashion and had relied heavily on Sam's judgment. The jury was still out on whether or not said judgment was correct when he pulled into the driveway of Bucky's house.

Sergeant Barnes answered the door. It was clear by her icy reception that she didn't like him for one reason or another. Maybe it was the aggression he'd greeted Bucky with that time she'd been present. Maybe she was just overprotective. Whatever the reason, he tried to be understanding.

“If you hurt him, I swear to God...”

So much for understanding. Irritation bubbled into his throat. “Sergeant, I don't know why you don't like me, but I am not a fucking monster. I'm taking your brother out because I think we have a lot of chemistry, not because I want to hurt him.”

“Says you and every other creep who's turned up only to bail on him when they find out he's more than a disability to fetishize. You think you're the first? You're not.”

He remained stony, refusing to acknowledge her comment by defending himself.

Finally, she turned away to pad into the kitchen. “He's almost ready. You want coffee?”

“No, thank you. I'm thinking you may have poisoned it to prevent me from taking your brother out.”

Her laughter was reluctant.

Moments later, Steve heard the motor of Bucky's wheelchair buzzing from the back portion of the house, and he had to swallow down a gulp of air when the man finally came into view. He wore a short-sleeved button down in check. Red, yellows, and blues played beautifully against his pale skin. A thin, yellow tie and gray slacks completed the outfit.

And Steve had to catch his breath to keep from dwelling on the idea of running his lips over the sharp line of the man's jaw. He hadn't really appreciated before that moment how utterly devastating Bucky was, how intoxicating the man's summer-blue eyes were in combination with his jaw and the cleft chin.

“Bucky. Hi.” And maybe he sounded a little breathless, but absolutely no one would blame him.

“You must be Mr. Rogers. Alani didn't tell me you were so stunning.” Bucky offered his hand.

The greeting threw him for a moment until he realized Bucky's memory had reverted to its pre-accident setting. Smiling, he shook his date's offered hand. “Please. Steve. And you are such a flatterer.”

“Is it gonna get me laid?” Bucky's lips curled into an impish smile.

But Steve was conscious of Sergeant Barnes hovering nearby and wasn't about to drive a bigger wedge between them by suggesting he was escorting her brother off to a one night stand. That and his cheeks heated. He rubbed the back of his neck and cast a glance toward the floor.

“I think we'd better get going or we'll be late. Ms. Ryan gave me strict instructions not to be late,” Steve finally said. He stepped back and held the door open so Bucky could drive down the ramp.

A maroon van waited nearby, and Bucky pushed a button on a key fob to open the side door where a ramp extended. Watching his date maneuver the ramp and drive himself to situate the wheelchair behind the vehicle's modified controls was something to behold. What should have been awkward went smoothly, and soon, he latched his chair into place.

Steve, meanwhile, retrieved the cake balls from his own car and accepted a dish from Sergeant Barnes, who came out to see them off. The fact that she gave him her number and insisted he call if anything went wrong brought some relief in that she trusted him enough not to abandon Bucky if things went badly. What kind of monsters had Bucky dated that it was even a concern?

“Have a good time, Champ,” she murmured before leaning through the driver's side window to kiss her brother's cheek. “Give Alani's tutu my love and congratulations.”

Bucky operated the controls smoothly when he backed them up and pulled out of the drive. Only once they were settled into traffic did he smile with one side of his mouth. “So... If you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cucumber.”

It startled a laugh out of him. “That has got to be the cheesiest line ever.”

“No, I've got one better. Are you a fruit? Because Honeydew you know how fine you are right now?”

“So we're going with the fruit and veg metaphor then?” He smoothed his hands down the dark slacks he wore. Sam had coupled it with a blue and white check shirt, a blue sweater, and a matching tie.

“Yep.” The way Bucky smiled sent jolts of warmth straight through his body.

“Go on then.”

“Do you live in a corn field? 'Cause I'm stalking you.”

Steve laughed again. “The only one I have is 'Did you read Dr. Seuss as a kid? Because green eggs and... damn!' So, not a fruit or a vegetable, but still in the food group?”

“It counts!” A comfortable moment passed before Bucky spoke again. “Alani told me you work at the aquatic center. That must be amazing. I always wanted to do the dolphin experience, but Becca's afraid they'll jostle me or I won't be able to maneuver well enough to stay safe.”

“Actually, dolphins are incredibly gentle. We have programs that cater to disabled people swimming with the dolphins and staff trained to help in the event something went wrong. You seem to love the ocean and its sea life.”

“Dad likes to say I was born in the ocean. Our ma, she was into the whole surfing lifestyle, so Dad says I get it from her. Too bad she wasn't into the whole being a mom lifestyle. She ran off with my dad's best friend after he found them screwing around in the house.”

Steve wanted to say _'I know'_ and _'you already told me'_ and _'I'm sorry she's an awful person'_ but didn't. Bucky couldn't remember that he'd already told Steve the story, so Steve smiled and said, “That's rough. Some parents don't know how to stay.”

The topic of his own mother inevitably came up, and he didn't want to talk about her. Talking about her still hurt. It probably always would, but Bucky had shared something intimate about himself and he felt obligated to return the favor. 

He was pleasantly surprised, though, when his date clasped his wrist and asked, “Do you mind if I light a candle for her next time I go to mass?”

Feeling choked with emotion, all he could get out was a breathy “I'd like that” and then “thanks,” and for the briefest of moments, Bucky tangled their fingers together so they could share the burden of lost mothers and the pain of having their childhoods ended much too soon.

Eventually, Bucky pulled off into a long driveway sheltered by lush growing things. Ferns in full leaf, palm trees, and fragrant hibiscus flanked the drive leading up to a house reminiscent of traditional Hawaiian architecture. Its steeply-pitched roof covered in cedar shingles sheltered a wrap-around porch made of rough hewn lumber. Numerous cars were parked in an adjacent field, but someone had put out a big sign reading _'reserved for Bucky.'_

Steve jumped out and moved the sign so his date could park the van there, and he scrambled around to open the side door and make to help in the event he was needed.

Bucky smiled. “Please don't rush around like that. If I need your help, I'll ask. Otherwise, just assume I know what I'm doing. My journal says I've been doing this stuff for the past year and a half.”

“Sorry.”

“You can grab the covered dishes if you want.”

Steve grabbed them from the passenger floorboard, and by that point, Bucky's chair was settled on the gravel, and he'd closed up the van via the key fob.

Alani met them part-way toward the house with an infectious smile and wearing her bridesmaid dress. “You made it!” First thing she did was to kiss Bucky's cheek. The second thing was to take the containers from Steve. “Thank you so much for coming, Steve. Tutu is excited to meet you.” The third thing she did was to greet them with “Aloha” and drape them in leis.

Heat warmed his cheeks. “I'm no one special.”

“Fiddle-faddle. You're freaking Captain America.”

His complexion turned sickly.

“You're a freaking hero! Tutu was visiting New York during the invasion. You and the Howlies are the only reason she's still alive, and she's wanted to somehow find you and let you know how much she appreciates what you did for her.”

“It was nothing. Really. Just doing my job.”

Somehow, Bucky must have sensed his discomfort, as the man bumped Alani with his wheelchair. “Give the guy a break. He's here to have fun and relax.”

The relief at Bucky taking away the attention was immense, and he tried to express it by softening his eyes in gratitude. Briefly, he brushed a hand over Bucky's shoulder, but the night was already ruined by the anxiety of knowing a bunch of strangers recognized him. That he would likely be asked to share stories about the invasion and stand still while they congratulated him. For what? He wasn't sure. Thousands of people had died because he hadn't had the balls to stand up to command.

He didn't realize they'd moved to the back yard until a warm hand wrapped around his. He glanced down to find Bucky looking up at him with a soft expression.

“Sit down and have a beer with me.”

From across the way, Alani's mother called out, “One, James Barnes. You can't legally drink, and I will not be called out for letting a minor get shift-faced on my property.”

“Ah man. Way to spoil my fun, Makuahine.”

The woman, plump and aglow with maternal warmth, hurried over and handed them each a can of Big Swell IPA. “You watch out for this one, Captain Rogers. His mother was a mischievous leaf kupua who left him at his father's doorstep.”

Steve accepted the beer and sat down in a camp chair beside Bucky. “Thank you, Ma'am.”

“None of that. Call me Leolani. That's my husband, Rob.” She indicated a Caucasian man standing with a group of others of various Polynesian descent around a spit where a whole boar was roasting.

“Leolani.”

“My mother and her new wife will arrive shortly. They're just finishing up their wedding pictures. Then we'll eat and get started with the entertainment. Thank you for coming. And for the cake balls.”

“Thank you for having me.”

He cracked open the can of beer when Leolani left and returned his attention to Bucky, who smiled an impish smile around the rim of his beer can.

“So you're not even old enough to drink.”

“I will be in close to six months. Does that bother you? You're what...?”

“Thirty-one.”

Bucky allowed his glance to travel down Steve in a manner that wasn't subtle in the slightest. “Does it bother you that I'm so much younger?”

“No.” He changed his mind a moment later. “I don't know.”

“Not like I'm jail bait.”

“There is that.”

“I've made you uncomfortable now.”

“I'm just not used to...” He indicated all the commotion around them.

“We can go if you'd like.”

“No. No, of course not. We're here to have a good time, so let's do that.”

Ignoring the press of the crowd became easier as the night wore on. Anna-Ikaika Puanani was clearly the matriarch of the household, and at the ripe age of seventy-three, had been born before the nineteen sixty-seven repeal of the Act to Regulate Names. It stated that all children must have an English given name and take their father's name as their surname. Unlike most families, where names became less traditional with the older generations, the reserve was true in Hawaii.

Anna-Ikaika's arrival alongside Sophie started the festivities. They were greeted with girls in traditional pā'ū skirts and men wearing malo, a native loin cloth. Both sexes were adorned with necklaces, leis, and headpieces. Their ankles were wrapped in greenery. Their bodies gyrated to the heavy beat of drums and the rhythm of steel guitars and ukelele.

The brides were beautiful in their white garb, and their first dance together was something that awoke a quiet longing in Steve, his hind brain yearning for intimacy while his conscious mind balked at the idea. They were so in love. Both in their seventies. But so very in love. It was in the way they looked at each other. It was in the way they kissed, not deeply but with so much affection.

Food came after the first dance. Bucky and he made their way over to their assigned picnic table where various relatives brought family-style bowls of kalua pork, poi, poke, and squid luau intermingling with more American fare like potato salad and macaroni and cheese. Steve laughed and tried to fend off Bucky's spoon, who tried to get him to eat a bite of squid luau.

“Buck, I'm not eating that. It looks like baby vomit.”

“You have to try it. It would be rude not to.”

“No. I'm not going to.” He pulled his face away, lips pressed into a tight line but giving away his good humor by the smile he couldn't swallow.

“Just one bite. Come on. It tastes like chicken.”

Steve finally allowed himself to be charmed into opening his mouth and taking the green mush onto his tongue. He mashed it around in his mouth with both eyes squeezed closed. Then, upon realizing the flavor wasn't disgusting, he relaxed. It did not taste like chicken.

“This does not taste like chicken. It tastes like squid with hints of coconut.”

Bucky laughed, and before Steve realized he was doing, his date grazed a finger along Steve's bottom lip to take away the remnants of food clinging there. Then proceeded to lick it off his own finger. It made Steve's insides warm, and he had the very rational urge to kiss the man.

Said urges were disrupted when people got up to start dancing along with the lively hula routine serving as entertainment. Most of the people at their table deserted them to take to the dance floor, leaving them to talk quietly. Every now and then, Bucky would look longingly at the dancers, though.

“Would you care to dance, Bucky?”

His date's smile saddened. “I can't.” He indicated his legs.

“What if I took most of your weight for you?” He grazed his fingers along the soft hairs at the nape of Bucky's neck, giving him time to consider the idea.

“You mean, you would hold me upright?”

“Sure.”

Bucky looked back out at the dancers and then to Steve.

And Steve got it. He understood that he was asking for a lot, for the kind of trust Bucky likely didn't often place in people these days. Surrendering his body to someone else entirely couldn't be easy, so he was surprised when Bucky eventually nodded and held out his hands.

Determined not to let down that trust, Steve took his hands and allowed the man to get to his feet. One arm went around Bucky's waist. The other allowed his date to clutch at his wrist for support, and they took slow steps out to the wooden dance floor.

“I've got you, Buck. Don't look at your feet. You look at me. I won't let you fall. I promise.”

He wound both arms around Bucky's waist with enough pressure to take most of the man's weight into his own arms. His body could handle it. It wasn't like he wasn't twice as wide and packed with muscle. Once he had a good grip, he swayed them side to side with the music, Bucky's hands coming to rest around his shoulders.

“This okay?”

Breathless, the other man said, “Yeah.”

Thankfully, it was a slow song, and his date was able to shuffle his feet enough to mime the steps without making it appear obvious he was dependent on Steve holding him up. They moved in small circles, and Steve would never forget the way the younger man looked up at him with all the warmth and affection that a pair of eyes could create.

They eventually broke eye contact, as Bucky decided instead to rest his face against Steve's shoulder. It felt so damn good to have the man in his arms, to have the man's solid weight against him, to care for him and give him the experience of dancing at his friend's tutu's wedding reception.

Steve helped Bucky back into his chair when the slow song ended, and they sat close together, knees touching, and engaged in quiet conversation. Bucky was a massive science fiction nerd. He wasn't just into the standard Star Trek or Star Wars, either. He was into more obscure titles like 'Kindred' by Octavia Butler and 'Dahlgren' by Samuel Delaney. 'Slaugther-House Five' by Kurt Vonnegut and anything by Ursula Le Guin. The man was so well read that it made Steve feel backwards by comparison. But then, he'd been reading flight manuals and military tactics by comparison.

He was having such a lovely time that when the inevitable happened, he almost didn't notice it.

Anna-Ikaika asked them to join her at the bridal table. He complied. She reached to take his hands and kissed both sets of knuckles before saying, “I am alive because of you. Mahalo.”

“You don't need to thank me. It was nothing.”

“On the contrary.”

Sophie cut in to ask, “What was it like? Being in the midst of that?”

He wasn't naive. They weren't actually asking him what it was really like. He couldn't tell them _'I was so scared I couldn't breathe'_ or _'There was chaos everywhere, and sometimes I didn't know if I was shooting at aliens or at my own people'_ or _'I still wake up drenched in sweat, and God, why the fuck did it have to be me?'_ People didn't want to hear that when they asked him what it was like.

So he said, “It was pure chaos.” Then, he said, “But it was my duty and my honor to defend our planet.” He followed it up by saying, “The Howlies and Shield have the best training our defense budget can buy. So we knew we were the only units capable of making a stand against the aliens.”

“What's it like running space missions?”

He didn't say _'Cold. Lonely. Fucking empty.'_ He didn't say _'Like your soul is being lost amidst the never-ending vastness of space.'_ No one wanted to hear that.

So he said, “A privilege. My government took a chance on a young upstart and afforded me the great honor of being one of our representatives to space travel. It changed my life, and I can't imagine having not accomplished something so profound.”

“Is it true you made the first space-jump to Mars?”

“Yes.”

“That must have been incredible,” Anna-Ikaika commented.

A group of scientists wanted to explore the surface of Mars using Foster Transfer, a cutting edge technology pioneered by Jane Foster that opened stable wormholes for the transfer of people and objects from one part of space to another. No human had ever been transferred using the technology before. All he could remember was being asked to make the jump to Mars followed by the terror of the bullet-shaped pod closing around him and not knowing if he would be ripped apart between Earth and Mars, if his ass would wind up in one universe and his head in another.

He swallowed hard in an effort to make his voice work. He was breathy when he said, “It was.”

Bucky seemed to sense something was wrong and leaned across him to clutch at Anna-Ikaika's hand, at which point, he said, “Tutu, you must tell me about where you're going on your honeymoon.”

And just like that, the conversation swept past him, and he couldn't have been more grateful or more relieved. Finding words to process the events in his own mind was hard enough. Lying and posturing was the only way to get through it with a captive audience. It was much like when the drive-thru worker at a fast food joint asked how you were. You didn't say _'I'm shitting myself to death and my doctor wants to shove a camera up my ass.'_ People didn't really care. They just wanted you to play your predefined social role in the script of life.

Later, Bucky drove them back to his place, and eager to relax away from the hustle and bustle of strangers, they sat out on the pier listening to the ocean rocking against the sand. It was a beautiful night, but the heating of the day had worn off enough that Bucky shivered. Steve scooted his yard chair closer in order to wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

“You can kiss me. If you want,” Bucky said.

Steve cupped the man's jaw and grazed their mouths together. The soft press of lips was intoxicating. Bucky's mouth was lush, his lips soft and inviting, and before he really made a conscious choice to deepen the kiss, his tongue was already dipping into the heat and velvet that willingly accepted him. A light sound escaped. When he pulled back, they shared breaths, lips poised a breath apart just to experience the closeness of their bodies.


	4. Rebecca Barnes And The Vehicle Registration Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's van gets impounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Use of a homophobic and racial slur in a prison setting.

Something inside him perked up upon seeing the guy who blustered into the Hukilau on military-precise steps and a swagger that screamed confidence. The newcomer was tall. He had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a head full of blond hair. An all-American beefcake face capped the hunk of burning love, and Bucky warmed at the idea of him. That he wanted to kiss a stranger took his breath away. He'd never felt such an instant attraction before.

He couldn't remember ever meeting the guy which was why it surprised the heck outta him when the stranger made eye contact and lit up at the sight of him.

“Bucky,” he greeted.

He felt his brows furrow as he tried to place the face with a memory. “I'm sorry. Have we met? Think I'd remember meeting someone as gorgeous as you, though.” It was dangerous territory. He knew that. Queer people didn't just walk up to a stranger and hit on them. Not unless they wanted to get punched in the face by a man with way too much machismo.

Something sad drifted across the man's expression, and he offered his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

He accepted the firm hand shake. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Do you mind if I sit?”

“It's a free country.” He moved his lunch plates around to make more room.

“I had a really good time at Anna-Ikaika's wedding lu'au.”

A mad scramble of emotions burst through him. He could find no corresponding memories, and shot a glance toward Leolani, who stood behind the counter ringing up fellow diners. “Alani's tutu got married? When? Why didn't Alani tell me? I was supposed to be at the reception!”

Panic tightened his chest and made breathing more difficult. Being unable to get enough oxygen only increased the anxiety, and his glance turned desperate as he sought help or reassurance from Alani's mother. She must have sensed his distress, as she hurried around the bar and crouched beside him.

“What is it, Keiki?”

“Tutu got married, and you didn't invite me?”

“No. Oh darling, no. You were at the reception. See.” Leolani retrieved her phone from her apron and opened up the photos to show him pictures of Bucky and Steve dancing at the reception.

He glanced across the table at the other man. “You danced with me.”

“Had a lot of fun, too,” responded Steve.

The anxiety softened as he met Steve's gaze. It opened up a wellspring of warmth inside him that chased away the darker thoughts and confusion, so much so that he failed to notice the nasty looks Leolani unleashed on Steve and was completely absorbed until he noticed a cop car sitting outside. It was poised beside his van, the officer busy writing in his tablet while a tow truck backed into the lot.

Panic rushed right back into place, and he surged away from the table despite his confusion, moving his chair out onto the porch and then down onto the gravel. “What are you doing? Why are you taking my car? I didn't do anything!”

“Your tags are six months out of date, Sir.”

“No, they're not,” he insisted. “My birthday is in March. I pay my registration every March ninth.”

“These tags are from last year.”

“And I'm telling you they're not!” The distress in his voice made him feel small, but he couldn't freaking handle this right now. It was too much piled on top of him at once.

“Hey, let's calm down,” Steve said after the man came to crouch beside his chair.

“I am calm!” Bucky shouted. “Stop treating me like a frigging child!”

“Can't you see he's upset, Officer. Surely there's been a mistake.”

“There is no mistake. Those are expired tags, and I am bound by law to have the vehicle impounded until registration can be brought up to date.”

“And I'm telling you that I paid my registration five months ago. I shouldn't have to renew until March ninth, twenty-eighteen. This is stupid. It's exactly the kind of police nonsense the world is railing against, making up fines and picking on people just to drain more money out of them.”

Leolani crouched beside his chair, a hand settling on his shoulder. “Keiki, it's August tenth, twenty-eighteen. You renewed your registration for the year twenty-seventeen.”

“I didn't--” He glanced at the people gathered around him. They whispered. Some did it behind their hands. Others didn't bother hiding their amusement, and he was suddenly so exhausted and confused that the very idea of being conscious for the rest of the day made his body ache.

“Let me drive you home,” Steve said. “Your chair should fit in the back of my jeep.”

Being vulnerable and emotional in front of someone he found attractive was even worse. “No. No, I don't want you to take me home. I'm not a goddamn child. Stop trying to be so nice to me and just admit that I'm your charity case. Help the disabled guy. Win points with Santa.”

Steve immediately stepped back and lifted his hands in surrender. Something like hurt was quickly veiled behind a more neutral expression.

“Come inside. I'll call your dad.”

He drove his chair up the ramp and onto the porch, only barely aware of Leolani telling Steve to back off and give him some space. Space was good. He was in desperate need of it after losing so much of his hard-won cool. The last thing he wanted was some stranger hovering nearby.

Becca was on maneuvers that week, so his dad came up from home with the SUV. Getting the chair inside was no easy task, but they managed it with a makeshift ramp, and Bucky was able to transfer himself into the passenger seat of the car, at which point, he looked out the window, knuckles pressed against mouth. Everything was out of control. The world was spinning violently, and there was nothing for him to grab onto, nothing to stabilize him.

Not even Steve's soft voice speaking with his father slowed things down.

“Do you need any help?” asked Steve.

“My son and I can manage. Look, Rogers, I don't think this is gonna work. It was a nice try, but you just don't know enough about the situation to integrate seamlessly into his life. Leolani told me you brought up the reception, and that set him off.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“Course not, Son, but unless you're prepared to learn how to handle the situation, you'll just keep upsetting him. However well-intentioned you are. Thank you for trying to look out for him, though.”

Bucky refused attempts at conversation on the drive home, too emotionally exhausted and embarrassed to keep up even the pleasantest of idle chit chat. Once they arrived and he was back in his chair, he disappeared down the hall into his bedroom where he transferred himself into bed. Moments later, his father knocked to see how he was. Bucky asked for some space. His father, thankfully, backed off.

Humiliation burned away any attempts at sleep, though. His mind wouldn't quiet enough to allow him to drift into hazy nothingness. All he could think about was that the day's events were another example of how he couldn't live independently. He would never have a home of his own. He would never have his own family. Bringing kids into the world when you were apt to have no idea of their existence in the morning was the height of irresponsibility.

He must have eventually drifted off, because when he woke, it was to Dad's raised voice coming from the great room. The sun had set, but Bucky had at least retained his memories of the day despite how groggy he felt upon waking.

“I gave you one freaking job, Rebecca,” Dad snarled. “You were supposed to keep up with his vehicle registration. That is all I asked you to do, and you can't even do that properly.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “You've asked me to do a Hell of a lot more than that.”

“Try and imagine what it was like for your brother. That cop humiliated him. He was having a bad day to begin with. It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Just admit you forgot and do better.”

“I forgot, okay?” A beat of silence passed. “I forgot to renew his vehicle registration.” The deep wound Rebecca carried was evident in the way her voice wobbled. “It's been a shitty six months. My commanders are riding my ass to help my platoon turn in better training scores, and I fucking forgot.”

“Don't lose sight of what's important. We're trying to give him as normal a life as possible.”

“What about my life?” she asked, more subdued.

“There will be time for that later.”

The knot of emotion clogging his throat broke open like a blister. Tears wet his cheeks. He located his phone and called Pleasant Ridge to set up an appointment so he could tour the facility. As soon as he got his van out of impound, he would drive out and look around, make sure it was a good fit for him. Leaving home would be hard. He suspected his dad wouldn't take the news well, but he was done ruining everyone's life by being a burden.

It was only after the call that he smelled something putrid and realized the seal on his colostomy bag had busted. The smell of feces clung inside his nostrils. He struggled back into his chair instead of calling for help, wheeled into the bathroom, and stripped himself down, unable to hold back the scalding tears born of frustration and grief.

He showered himself and carefully cleaned the stoma through which his feces passed. He put on a new wafer and sealed a new bag into place. He threw away the used bag.

The process didn't do much to calm him down. There was nothing to do but brace his forehead against the edge of the sink and sob, strong vibrations painfully jerking his body. Because this was his life. For the rest of his life. And he couldn't be brave, couldn't face the inevitability that his life would never be the same as before the accident.

Next thing he knew, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders to urge his face away from the counter top, and he was being pulled into Rebecca's arms. Her voice was soothing when it washed over him. “I'm sorry. Boo, I'm so sorry. I forgot to renew your registration.”

“You shouldn't have to,” he choked out.

“Don't do that. It's a five minute thing online, and I was too busy and distracted to take five minutes of my time for you. That's not okay. Don't let me off the hook so easy.”

He transferred his face into her chest to hide for a while longer, comforted by the warm balm of her hand moving up and down his back. “I'm sorry you gave up everything for me.”

“What?”

“You're not happy. You shouldn't have to be here.”

“Boo, did you hear me and Dad arguing?”

He nodded in response.

“Oh, baby.” Both arms enfolded him to pull him tighter against her solid body. “Baby, don't listen to us when we get going at each other. You know how me and Dad are. We're oil and water. Us arguing isn't your fault. It's never been your fault.”

“But if I wasn't here, you wouldn't have to--”

“Hush.” A warm palm cupped his chin and forced his face from her chest. “You're my brother, and I love you so goddamn much I can't put it into words. Whatever you need. Whatever I can do to make this easier on you, I will. You don't turn your back on family.”

***

Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility was the one bright spot after the accident. He loved his job there and would have been happy to take on additional hours if the facility's budget allowed for it. The kids came from all sorts of backgrounds. Some were violent offenders. Others had been brought in on drug charges, but one thing linking them all together was that they came with crappy back-stories.

Nick Fujita's parents had been killed in an accident when he was a child, causing him to be shuffled around amidst foster homes until he'd finally been arrested and sentenced for car jacking. 

Hakim Antoun had come out to his conservative father and had been disowned and kicked out of the home at age fifteen. A gang had become his home. He was serving a life sentence and would soon transfer from the youth facility into an adult prison.

Deshawn Phelps' father had left his mother high and dry. She waited tables at a diner, often taking double shifts to make ends meet. Deshawn hadn't had her guiding influence to build a strong foundation and had been arrested for drug charges with intent to distribute.

Taleek Johnson's dad was an abusive alcoholic who couldn't hold down a job, so his son had been arrested shoplifting food to feed his younger siblings.

Josiah Morris' mother didn't now how to handle his outbursts and let him skip school on the regular. He was back after a six month stint on parole after being caught with marijuana.

Cameron Akiyama wouldn't talk about his home life, but the anger burning inside his core would destroy everyone who got close to him if he didn't find a way to cope. He was serving time for assault and battery and attempted homicide, but when he was having a calm day, he was one of the sweetest, most cooperative kids Bucky had ever worked with.

“We're gonna work on our self-portraits today, so let's all pick up our charcoals from the desk and get started. For this, you're going to take each other's picture. I'll print it out here on my nifty photograph printer, and you'll use that as a reference for your art.”

There was a few moments of push-back from Taleek and Nick, who had declared themselves the alpha dogs of the group and didn't want to do something they perceived as girly. 

“Yo, Barnes, don't you know the ladies is into taking selfies? How you gonna do us like this? We got our reps to think about,” complained Taleek.

“Your reps aren't gonna pass this class, Buddy. Nick, partner with Hakim.”

“No.” Nick crossed his arms.

Bucky arched a brow.

“I ain't gonna have no gump taking pictures of me.”

“Like I'd wanna take a nip's picture.”

“That's enough,” Bucky exclaimed while whacking a hardcover book against his desk to get their attention. “We don't use that kind of language in this classroom. Now, if you don't want to be here and cooperate, you're welcome to go back on kitchen detail. Otherwise, knock it off.”

Both boys snarled at each other but eventually calmed down long enough to take the required photograph with Bucky's camera. Once they had that sorted out, he printed off all the pictures and distributed them to their respective owners.

“Now, the purpose here isn't to strive for photorealism. Use your reference photos to get the basic shapes of your face correct, but concentrate on how you want the outside world to see you.”

Everyone got started, and Bucky allowed them quiet time in order to work on the project while he sketched out a group of hawksbill sea turtles. Sea Life Park had hired him to do some promotional art for an upcoming exhibit on the sea turtles leading up to a fundraiser for conservation efforts. Conserving the species was one of his passions. They were his favorite animal.

After a while, he set aside his sketchpad and moved his chair from behind the desk to check on his kids. They were sketching quietly. All of them had improved since the start of their classes, but some were naturally more gifted than others. He stopped beside Josiah to help him shape the broad expanse of the youth's nose, showing him how to add shadow and highlight to achieve more depth.

Cameron didn't often need correction. He was an incredibly gifted artist with a natural affinity for creativity, but Bucky was struck by the youth's choice to leave the eyes blank. He hadn't moved to fill in the pupil and iris, only added highlights to make the whites shine.

“Can you tell me why you chose to do it like that?”

The kid looked away for a moment before answering. “The eyes are the window to the soul.”

“What does this say about your soul?”

“That there ain't nothing there, Mr. Bee.” The kid swallowed hard and refused to make eye contact. “He killed whatever was left after--” Seeming to catch on to the fact he'd said more than he'd intended, Cameron snapped his mouth shut. “Just looks cool, Mr. Bee.”

There was more to that story, but prying anything out of Cameron would be about as successful as straightening the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He squeezed the kid's forearm.

Deshawn was the complete opposite of Cameron with a bubbly personality and always eager to please. That kid had enough energy to power the International Space Station, and while his charcoal lines were frenetic, he somehow managed to capture the enthusiasm with which he lived life.

Bucky laughed upon seeing the sheer joy rendered on Deshawn's paper. He made sure to give a lot of praise over the hash contrasts between black and white and the kid's use of negative space. If there was one thing he'd learned while teaching these kids, it was that they were desperate for positive reinforcement. Praising their efforts went a long way in making them eager to please.

***

Kaleo's bluesy music spilled from his cell phone as Jökull Júliusson wailed “Kiss your baby goodbye. Come on, love, it's all right. You'll never know unless you give it a try.”

Bucky continued with the controls of his wheelchair while digging for his phone with his weaker hand where a texted awaited his attention. Alani was held up at the Hukilau Cafe. The regular waitress had called in sick and no one else was available to cover the shift.

It screwed his plans for visiting Pleasant Ridge. There was no way he would ask his father or sister to accompany him. In fact, the less they knew about the idea, the better. He was quite sure they would try to talk him out of it once they found out. At the same time, he didn't want to go by himself, needed that moral support that a friend could provide.

His glance fell upon a little-used number in his contact list. Steve Rogers. They weren't really close, he supposed. One date to Anna-Ikaika's wedding reception didn't make them bosom buddies, but he couldn't forget how happy he'd looked in the photos Leolani had shown him, how content he'd looked in Steve's arms. So maybe they were closer than he thought.

Maybe texting the guy out of the blue was wrong. But he didn't think so. And he desperately didn't want to roll into Pleasant Ridge by himself for fear of losing his nerve.

Finally, he texted, “Hi, Steve. Are you free?”

He quickly followed it with another text reading, “This is Bucky Barnes.”

“Hi, Bucky. Yeah, I'm free right now. What can I do for you?”

“I was supposed to go look at an apartment, but my friend bailed at the last second. I know it's a huge favor to ask, but would you consider riding shotgun?”

A few moments passed without response.

Bucky was just about to backpedal out of it when Steve responded, “Sure. Give me ten minutes to get ready. Do you have your van? Or should I bring my jeep?”

“I have my van. It's totally legal now, too. Registration all up to date. Could you meet me in the visitor parking lot at the correctional facility?”

“No problem. Be there in twenty minutes.”

He parked his chair outside the van to wait, spending the time either sketching or fidgeting and generally soaking in the warm sunshine spilling around him. He didn't glance up until a jeep arrived, at which point, he looked up to find Steve parking beside the van.

The man looked like a walking Old Navy commercial, khaki’s that were about half a size too small for his body type and a pink polo shirt. The guy's hair had become bleached in the summer sun, and with afternoon light limning him, he looked like a fire god. Then he smiled. Steve's smile did things to Bucky's insides that were entirely too pleasant.

Bucky shaded his eyes and grinned up at the other guy. “Hi, Beefcake.”

With the light pouring around him, one couldn't be sure if Steve actually blushed. “Hi, Beautiful.”

Bucky, on the other hand, did blush. He also lost control of his brain and forgot to speak, too enraptured by the gorgeous man standing above him who deigned to pay such a compliment to a guy stuck in a wheelchair. There was something he was supposed to say.

“There's something I'm supposed to say.”

Steve's laugh was darling. “Are you ready to get started?”

“Right. Apartment hunting. That's what we're supposed to be doing. Oh God, kill me now.”

To save face, he opened the side door and drove his chair inside to get settled behind the wheel, waiting until Steve buckled into the passenger seat before backing out of the space to get started. Traffic was light on Kalanianaole Highway when he pulled out.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

“There's no need to apologize, Buck. You had a bad day. Everyone has them.”

“Disregard whatever my dad said to you. He's overprotective. It's just-- Being with someone like me would be such a huge stress, and I understand that no one will want to--”

“Let me just stop you right there, Buck,” Steve cut in. “There's nothing wrong with you. People are a huge stress. Doesn't matter the particulars of their condition. We all learn to love people as they are and with whatever baggage they come. If you want to date me, then ask me on a date. Don't sell yourself short because you need a wheelchair and have memory issues.”

Flustered, he took a minute to connect his mouth with his brain again. “Will you go out with me?”

“Yes, Buck. With bells on.”'

There was nothing tiny or secret about his smile.

The trip out to the Pleasant Ridge facility was enjoyable. Steve wasn't a consummate conversationalist, but he was a good listener, and Buck was outgoing enough to fill any voids in their conversation. He quickly learned that the other man's service as a Space Airman was a tricky subject, one not to be engaged in as an idle topic. Bringing it up made Steve tighten with discomfort. So he kept their chat easy and talked more about the man's other passion, which was marine wildlife.

Jocko, the park's male walrus, seemed to be a favorite of Steve's, as the man had plenty of stories of the walrus hamming it up to show off for his harem of lady walruses. Steve had been part of a team who had rescued Jocko when the big guy had gone foul of a fishing net and had become so entangled it had nearly cut the circulation off from his rear flipper. The walrus had been near death by the time Sea Life Park had been called in to give assistance with his rescue.

Laughing, Bucky pulled into the facility's parking lot and found a handicapped spot. The place looked a little bare. Several buildings clustered around an intake center where a swarm of activity took place. A variety of people moved around between the buildings. Most were dressed in the facility's staff uniform. Others were residents in various states of physical disability. A couple of elderly residents were left unattended in the hot sun.

Steve waited while Bucky unloaded himself and was content to walk along beside him into the intake center. A staff member met them there to show them around. Their first stop was the main activity area that offered a variety of therapeutic facilities including an indoor swimming pool.

Bucky paused beside the pool to watch people engage in calisthenics. He felt welcome there, connected to the rest of the patients via their shared abnormal qualities. No able-bodied teens would jeer at him for pressing through the pain to reclaim as much of his independence as he could, but the facility also seemed worn and dated. Cracks showed here and there. There was only one life guard on duty and too few nursing aides for the number of people in the pool.

Shared meals would be taken in the cafeteria, which reminded him terribly of his middle school eatery. There was nothing homey about it, nothing that screamed welcome or made it look inviting. Things he could live with if it meant easing the burden on his dad and sister.

Their next stop was a residential room, and that was where Bucky finally shuddered. Nothing softened the cheap, linoleum floors. No rugs. No carpet. It reminded him far too much of a hospital room, and he would have to share one of two bathrooms with everyone else living on that floor.

Panic simmered right on the edge of his consciousness until Steve dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. The grounding comfort pulled him back from the edge just when he was ready to tip into an abyss. Phantom hospital smells filled his nostrils. Ghostly remembrances of waking up in the ICU with no idea what had happened or why his legs refused to work plagued him. 

According to his medical files, he'd spent a month in the hospital before being transferred to a rehabilitation center, one eerily similar to Pleasant Ridge. Memories threatened to swallow him, and it was Steve who suggested they sit outside in the gardens for a few minutes.

Outside, he felt capable of breathing again. The world slowly came back into focus. He was parked near a fountain. Water burbled into the fountain's splash pool. Steve sat on a bench in front of him. A blackbird pecked at someone's dropped sandwich crust nearby.

When he finally lifted his head, Steve smiled and extended a hand. Bucky settled his palm into the other man's and allowed a thumb to rub across his knuckles. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“For what?” asked Steve.

“Freaking out on you.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Buck, what are we really doing here?”

“Dad and Becca--” He paused to get his bearings, to try to swallow down the water rushing toward the crack in his dam. “They've given up their lives to take care of me. They shouldn't have to.”

“Do they know you're here?”

He shook his head and accepted the tissue Steve dug out of a pocket to wipe at his eyes.

“Do you want them to know you're here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They'd try to stop me. They'd insist everything is fine at home, but it's not. Dad and Becca fight all the time. Becca wanted to go career military but settled for the Reserves so she could help Dad with me. He expects way too much of her and doesn't take care of himself, not with me there.”

“Seems like that's a choice they should be able to make, though, right? If they think you're worth it.”

“Steve.” Bucky scoffed. “They take care of me because they feel obligated to.”

“Thing is, Buck, that's not your call to make. You don't get to tell them how to feel.”

He blew his nose into the tissue and stuffed it in his messenger bag for later disposal. “That's easy for you to say.”

“Maybe. But I'd sure as fuck be heartbroken if I watched a loved one break down at the idea of living in a hospital setting the rest of his life.”

His companion's phone chimed. Steve looked intent on ignoring it until the call came a second time, at which point, he fished out his phone and cursed softly. He offered a quick “I need to get this” before getting up to move a few yards away for some privacy.

Bucky, meanwhile, looked up at the worn, brick buildings with their fading shutters and the too few nursing aides and felt something inside him shrivel. There was nothing beautiful about the place. There was no art to make the soul sing. Only bland sameness. An endless march of days ticking down until the bright color of his soul faded into something wane and bleak.

“Buck?” Steve's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He met the man's eyes.

“I'm really sorry to do this, but I need to get back to the park. The Coast Guard is bringing in an injured turtle, and it's my turn on call.”

“Oh! Sure. Of course. Would you mind driving? I can show you how to install the seat.”


	5. Dr. Romanoff; Paging Dr. Romanoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go on a date, and we learn more about Steve's military days.

The situation was such that Steve didn't bother stopping at the correctional facility to pick up his jeep. He took Bucky and his van back to the park and ushered them both through the staff entrance in order to get to their conservation and rescue department quickly enough. Coast Guard authorities hadn't arrived by the time they got there, so he strode over to Sam.

“Hey, there's someone I want you to meet. Sam, this is Bucky. Sam's one of my roommates and probably the only reason I'm still remotely sane.”

The two men greeted each other.

“So you're the guy Steve won't shut up about,” Sam commented.

And Bucky blushed, looking away for a moment before responding, “All good things I hope.”

“This guy?” Sam nudged Steve in the ribs. “Got a mouth like a sailor, but won't speak a bad word about anybody. Not unless they really tick him off. That happens, and you better watch out.”

“It's always the quiet ones,” responded Bucky.

A Coast Guard truck pulled through the gates moments later, and Steve turned his attention to the people unloading the sea turtle. He hurried forward to take an end of the stretcher. He grimaced.

The turtle was above average in size, close to four and a half feet and probably weighed a good four hundred pounds, so maneuvering the adult male was no easy task. Looked like the poor thing had gotten in a fight with a boat propeller. There was a gaping wound in the shell, and its front, left flipper was badly lacerated and hanging by a thread. The vet would most likely want to amputate.

Steve turned his portion of the stretcher over to Sam in order to change into a wet suit, at which point, he slipped into a shallow pool to help manhandle the turtle into the water. Said turtle was not entirely happy about being manhandled and damn near took off Steve's fingers when they strayed too close to its razor sharp beak. Its blood began to seep into the cool blue.

“I need to support its body weight,” called Steve. “Someone get the inflatables for later.” He was only partially aware of Bucky sitting near the pool in his chair watching the exchange as they worked to save the turtle's life.

Dr. Romanoff, their lead vet, finally arrived to examine the wounds, and things became a mess of chaos for a while with people shoving and crowding around the tank to watch the proceedings. Nat dropped into the pool next to him and quickly determined the limb was beyond saving.

“We'll need to amputate the flipper. There's no circulation left to the limb. It will be healthier in the long run to lose it. I'm more worried about spinal injury. Its back legs aren't moving adequately.”

Steve followed her glance down to the hind flippers. He didn't fail to draw comparisons between the turtle and Bucky. Fierce, independent Bucky whose spirit hadn't allowed him to be crushed under the trials he was up against. It made him all the more determined to save the turtle.

“Breath sounds aren't very good. He might have a collapsed lung. We can perform surgery to repair the lung and wire the edges of the shell together to encouraging healing, but if his spine is damaged, he'll be non-releasable. Let's move him into our clinic to get an MRI of that lung.”

“What name do you want us to put on his card?” asked Steve.

Nat looked around, her glance settling on Bucky, who hovered nearby. Her smile was surprisingly soft. “What do you think we should name him?”

Bucky looked flustered for a few moments before saying, “Marvel.”

“Marvel it is.” The smile that stretched his lips nearly broke his face.

Between Sam and Steve, they loaded Marvel back onto the stretcher and hefted him onto a gurney for transport to the on-site veterinary center where an MRI machine showed a deflated lung. Nat rushed the turtle into surgery shortly thereafter, which was a place Steve and Sam couldn't go. They weren't vet technicians and weren't certified to assist in the operating ward.

So he left Marvel in the care of Nat's surgical team and found Bucky outside chatting animatedly with several other park employees. He took a moment to look at the man under the yellow lights of the flood lamps. Night had fallen since their arrival, and it was a little chilly out, as evidenced by the way Bucky wrapped his arms around himself.

Steve grabbed a park windbreaker and hurried over to wrap it around the other man's shoulders.

“Steve!” Bucky's face lit up.

“Hey, Buck.”

“How's the surgery going?”

“So far so good. It'll be a while, though. Would you like me to take you home?”

“Actually, I just need a bathroom.”

“Sure.”

Rising, he moved ahead of Bucky, only vaguely aware that the wetsuit he still wore clung to him like a second skin. They wound up in Steve's office, which was located underground near the beluga whale habitat. Two large, round windows looked into the enclosure where Kuno and Kiki played. He showed the other man into the attached bathroom but was determined not to offer to help.

Rather, he used the time to strip out of his wetsuit and dress in a pair of sweats and a park t-shirt he kept in case of emergencies. He'd just gotten settled when Bucky called for him from the bathroom. It was with a breath to steady himself that he slipped inside.

Bucky looked supremely embarrassed, and it was at that point he noticed his friend having trouble unsticking the wafer of an ostomy bag from his skin. “I know it's a lot to ask, but...” Something bordering on vulnerability lurked behind those summer-sky eyes Steve was growing to love.

Smiling, he moved to wash his hands before crouching in front of the man's wheelchair. “Just tell me what to do, and tell me if I hurt you.”

Bucky offered him a wipe to break the adhesive of the seal around his skin.

There was a lot more that went into removing and attaching an ostomy bag than he ever imagined, but he was careful of his expression, careful to remain neutral even when feces seeped from the stoma, forcing them to clean the skin a second time. He handed the man gauze and saline, prepped the adhesive ring, and then sprinkled various powders before Bucky pressed the new bag into place.

When it was over, when Bucky cradled the bag against his skin to warm the adhesive and ensure the seal took, he looked guarded, more than a little uncertain, his chin tucked near his chest, and his eyes never quite meeting Steve's. His heart ached knowing that Bucky thought, for even a second, that the process would put him off.

So Steve cradled the man's cheeks and asked, “Can I kiss you? I would very much like to kiss you.”

A moment of surprise brightened the guy's eyes. Then, blushing, he nodded.

Steve grazed their mouths together. Nothing prepared him for the pleasure of having those soft lips flex against his to press into the kiss. It didn't matter that Bucky was a paraplegic. It didn't matter that he was ten years younger. All that mattered was the gentle feeling left in the wake of their mouths touching. He felt calm and smiled into the kiss.

“First kiss,” murmured Bucky.

Hellfire and Brimstone couldn't force him to admit they'd kissed once before. If Bucky felt the newness of a first kiss, then far be it from him to take that away.

“To first kisses. And hopefully the many that follow.”

***

Steve pulled into the drive of Bucky's house and parked the van. The other man had fallen asleep almost as soon as they'd gotten settled, so instead of driving to the correctional facility to get his jeep, he'd decided to take Bucky home first and call a cab.

Moments passed before George Barnes appeared on the porch and hurried to meet them. The man looked frazzled but went immediately to the side door. He opened it up.

“Buck, we're home.” Steve reached over to shake the man awake.

Bucky murmured something before rubbing sleep from his eyes with his knuckles. When he came awake, he rested his head against the window. His smile did things to Steve's insides that couldn't be good given the way George Barnes was giving him the evil eye.

“Can I call you tomorrow and check on Marvel?”

“Please, do.”

“Dad, you'll never guess what happened.” The excitement in the youth's voice was undeniable as George put his son's wheelchair into neutral and rolled it from the van. Frenetic chatter filled the air.

Steve, meanwhile, stepped out to stretch his legs, pausing on the front porch until Bucky took a breath. Only then did he interrupt. “Buck, I had a really good time today. Thank you for asking me out.”

Bucky paused mid-word and smiled. “I had a really good time, too. Do you want to come in for a while? Dad keeps the beer well-stocked. We could watch a movie.”

“I'd love to, but I have an early day tomorrow. I'm going to call a cab and head back to my jeep, but feel free to text whenever you want. If you'd like to stop by to check on Marvel, just let me know.”

Disappointment quickly disappeared behind a neutral mask, but it then bled into another of that man's infectious smiles. “Calling a cab is silly. Dad, Steve left his car at the correctional facility. Can you take him back to pick it up?”

“Becca isn't home yet from maneuvers,” George said.

“Dad, I'm pretty sure I can stay by myself for an hour.”

Saying goodbye was bittersweet knowing that, in all likelihood, Bucky wouldn't remember him the next morning. Part of him wanted to prolong the day so that it never ended, so he could remain basking in the youth's company until all the world-weary heaviness on his shoulders disappeared. Instead, he gave Bucky a peck on the cheek and climbed into George Barnes' vehicle for what would likely be the most uncomfortable ride of his life.

“Thought I told you to stay away from my son,” George said.

He'd really like to be wrong occasionally. “All due respect, Sir, but that's not your decision to make.”

“You think I don't know what's in the best interest of my son?”

“I think your son is twenty and capable of making his own decisions.”

“Which apparently include getting involved with a thirty year old who has no idea what it's like taking care of someone so vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” Steve did his best to swallow anger. It would not help the situation to lose his temper in front of Barnes. “That guy is probably the strongest man I know.”

“And what are you getting out of this? The pleasure of seducing someone who will forget he's slept with you the next morning? Access to an impressionable youth who will be easy to walk out on when you lose interest?”

“You don't fucking know me at all.” So much for holding his temper. “Yet you're willing to condemn me based on the actions of other men. You know, I get it. I'd be protective as fuck, too, if I were in your situation, but I'd also recognize that my son deserves to live his life. That includes encouraging him to have relationships. He's a paraplegic, not a man unable to consent.”

George's fingers tightened over the steering wheel until it creaked. “If you hurt him...”

“You'll kill me? Bury me in the jungle? Throw me in a volcano? Am I getting warm?”

The other man huffed. “We got a real gosh darn spitfire here, folks.”

He allowed the silence to stretch until they arrived back at the correctional facility. As he was preparing to get out, he said, “I really like your son, Mr. Barnes. He's tenacious and vibrant, well-adjusted and determined, kind and brave. And self-sacrificing. So fucking self-sacrificing. Ask where we went today. It's not my place to tell you, but ask him. Then tell me your son isn't mature enough to make his own decisions.”

Later, while in his jeep on the way home, he pressed fingertips to his lips and remembered the ghost of Bucky's against his. And it was foolish, so fucking foolish to get involved with someone who had as many challenges as Bucky Barnes, but he was addicted and couldn't seem to stop even if it meant surrendering his own self-preservation. He was a hundred and ten percent sure Bucky was worth it.

***

_Electricity sizzled in the air, burning the roof of Steve's mouth and leaving behind ash on his tongue and the acrid taste of burnt wires. He turned his plane and flipped a switch into hover mode. The engines shifted to produce enough downdraft to hold him aloft. An alien whale plowed toward him._

_“Someone close that fucking portal!” he shouted through their intercoms._

_“Wait. I have incoming,” Tony said. “Class A atomic. Government ordered a nuclear strike on Manhattan. J.A.R.V.I.S penetrated the on board computer and rerouted its targeting system. It's locked onto Iron Man's engine output.”_

_“Yeah, and what are you planning to do with it?” asked Asathjor Odinson, whom everyone called Thor because it was less of a mouthful than his Nordic name._

_“I know just the place to put it,” Tony responded._

_“You're low on fuel,” warned Steve. “You get through that portal, redirect the missile, and save what fuel you can for the return. That's an order, Airman.”_

_Allowing one of his men to go careening through an alien portal with a nuclear weapon tailing him was not in Steve's repertoire, but he also knew the stakes if that bomb hit its target and destroyed most of the Eastern seaboard. It should have been him. There just wasn't time to redirect the missile._

_So the F-40 Avenger codenamed Iron Man streaked across the sky, followed by the trail of fuel powering the missile, and in moments, man, machine, and bomb disappeared into the deep. He couldn't even wait and see if his guy made it back out. Not with a fucking behemoth barreling toward him. He engaged his canons and screamed toward the gaping maw, using his own plane, codename Captain America, as a bullet. It ripped through the beast's body, and he laid on the trigger for his canons to open a hole through which to fly._

_Once out the other side, he heard Captain Carol Danvers, who led the secondary Space Airman squad known as Shield, shouting, “I've got it. I can close the portal!”_

_“Wait until we have word of Tony's return,” he ordered._

_“Belay that order, Captain Danvers,” ordered General Ross. “You get a clear shot on closing that portal, you do it. Those things are still coming.”_

_“I'm not leaving my man behind,” Steve snapped._

_“You'll do as you're ordered, Captain Rogers.”_

_“Danvers,” Steve began, fully intent on putting his foot down. There had been too many compromises that day, too many lives lost for someone else's agenda._

_“Follow your orders, Captain Danvers,” Ross shouted._

_“Steve?” Clear indecision filled Carol's voice._

_Steve's teeth ground together, but in the end, he was the lead Airman. The decision needed to rest on his shoulders, not hers. At the end of the day, he needed to carry the burden, not her. Finally, he ground out, “Close it.”_

_Just then, the nose of Iron Man appeared through the portal, but it was too late. It was too fucking late. The portal slammed closed, shearing off the plane's front section, leaving the cockpit and its pilot in space while what remained of the wreckage tumbled to the earth._

He jerked awake only to be sick on the floor beside his bed, body jerking with the way he wretched to expel everything he'd eaten that day. Nothing could hold back the sobs that tore out of him. Nothing could stop the black weight of guilt settling on his shoulders.

Feet thumped against the floor. His door opened. Sharon danced around the puddle of puke, climbed onto the bed, and pulled him into her arms.

“I've got you. You're okay, Steve. You're safe. You're in Oahu. In our apartment. The war's over, Love. It's been over for a while.”

“It's not,” he insisted. “It's not, and it's never going to be.”

***

Turned out Steve should have stayed in bed that day. Two of his team members called in sick. One volunteer needed to be let go for conduct unbecoming. Who in their right mind tried to steal a baby shark by smuggling it out in a cooler? And he received an invitation from Carol Danvers for the opening of a monument to the men and women who died during the New York Invasion.

Relations between Danvers and he had been icy ever since the event. He couldn't tell how much of that was his fault and how much was a result of the circumstances in which they'd found themselves. Tony had been killed. Ultimately, he'd been the one to order the portal closed, so she likely blamed him. She might as well. He blamed himself.

The idea of going to a memorial that would feature a monument to Tony Stark with a life-size replica of his Iron Man plane didn't sit well. Steve didn't deserve to be there. Didn't want to be there. Wild horses couldn't drag him. No amount of Carol lecturing him about putting on a good face for the latest batch of Space-Ready Airmen could force his hand. If she wanted to play the older sister to fresh-faced recruits, that was completely on her.

So to say that Steve was having a bad day was stating the obvious. He wanted nothing more than to take the rest of the day off, climb into bed, and cease being functional until a new sunrise arrived. But looking up and seeing Bucky approaching, being escorted behind the scenes by Sam, immediately lifted some of the weight. The grin that came to him was likely of the disgustingly sappy variety.

Perceptive as always, Bucky saw past the welcoming smile and said, “You look like Hell.”

“It's been one of those days.” He paused in an attempt to gauge the other man's condition, searching for clues that might tell him one way or another whether Bucky had retained memories of the day before. Finally, he asked, “Do you... Uh?”

“Oh! Yeah. Today's a good day. You kissed me in your office last night.” Bucky winked.

Sam cat-called.

Steve flipped Sam off and did his best to cover the relief. Then a smile softened his face. “I did kiss you. And it was a wonderful sort of kiss.”

A smirk crawled onto Bucky's lips, and he leaned up, tilting his face in Steve's direction.

It was only natural for Steve to meet him by bending down to brush their mouths together.

“Sam said I could come back and check on Marvel. If that's okay.”

“Sure. Yeah! We can absolutely check on Marvel, but I can't chat long. We're short staffed with feeders today. Secretly, I suspect our regulars got shit-faced last night and spent the night together. Oh, to be twenty-one and have wild oats to sew again.”

“Or at all.” Bucky's smirk returned.

Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder. “I'll take care of the feeding schedule, Man. You take lunch and hang out with your boyfriend. I don't want to see you back here for an hour, yeah?”

“Because you're totally my boss and can order me around!” he fired over his shoulder while leading Bucky away toward the veterinary clinic.

“Nah, but you gotta live with me.” Sam shot off finger guns.

“So Sam seems fun,” Bucky said once they were out of earshot.

“He's a mother hen. Constantly insisting on taking care of me. He had me on a paleo diet last week. I do not recommend a paleo diet.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment before asking, “So am I?”

He scrambled to keep up with the sudden change of topic. “Are you what?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Honestly, he hadn't even realized Sam had referred to Bucky as his boyfriend; that was how normal it had sounded rolling off the other man's tongue. The idea of a boyfriend, though... Of being emotionally available on the regular, especially to someone with the kind of needs Bucky had... It scared him a little, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

The longer he took to say something, the more Bucky's face fell, and the guy said, “Never mind. That was super forward to put you on the spot like that.”

“Hey. No.” Steve stopped and crouched in front of the wheelchair to bring them to eye-level. “I'm just a little scared, is all.”

“Of what?”

“That I won't be good enough for you. That I don't deserve you. That I'll screw this all up and hurt you. Bucky, I'm not an easy man to be around. I'm moody as Hell sometimes and can be incredibly self-centered. You need someone--”

“You don't get to tell me what I need, Steve Rogers. If this is your way of blowing me off, then come right out and say it. I'm not a freaking child who needs to be coddled. Don't treat me like one.”

“You're right. Sorry.”

Awkward silence descended between them.

Eventually, Steve said, “I care about you. A lot. You're a very special person, and I want to keep seeing you. If you'll have me. But I'm on a learning curve, here. So be patient with me?”

The stoic mask Bucky hid behind cracked. “You silly, silly man. Stop selling yourself short and kiss me already.” Cupping Steve's cheeks, he guided them into another kiss, one that deepened with the languid rasp of tongue sliding behind teeth.

After, their walk to the vet clinic passed in excited conversation. His companion had such a love of marine wildlife and proved a rapt audience while passing the various enclosures. Nat greeted them at the clinic door with a knowing smile and led them back to the child's pool where Marvel was recovering from surgery. Someone had dressed him in a life-jacket to help him remain buoyant.

Surgery had inflated his collapsed lung, but Dr. Romanoff was worried about any resulting lung infection. Several sea turtles had survived surgery only to then contract major complications that often resulted in the animal being humanely euthanized. Marvel's shell should heal on its own, but there was still a long road toward recovery.

Watching the awe in Bucky's face when Nat allowed him to caress Marvel's shell was something else. The way he murmured to him, praised him, told him he was such a brave creature. All he wanted to do was gather the other man into his arms and promise him all the wonderful things life had to offer.

It would be a pointless promise, of course. Bucky's condition was evidence of the fact he couldn't shield the man from everything. But the desire was still there to protect. To shelter.

After, they retreated back to Steve's office by way of the staff cafeteria for some lunch, and it was there Steve broached the issue he'd been building toward.

“One of my friends, Sharon, is having a get together at Waimanalo Beach. She booked up all the overnight camping permits for the night. Just some people getting together and enjoying themselves. I wondered if you'd like to go. You don't have to spend the night. We can leave whenever you'd like.”

“Are you trying to get me in a tent alone at night, Steve Rogers?” The smirk Bucky wore was so adorable Steve wanted to go into a diabetic coma.

“I mean, if you want to... But I thought it might be uncomfortable for you. Without ready access to facilities and such.” Good God, his face was on fire. He thought service in the military had desensitized him to blushing.

The other man broke eye contact and glanced down at his hands, the weaker of the two trembling slightly. “Getting up and down from the ground would be a bit more than I want to handle, but I would absolutely love to hang with you guys tonight.”

“That's settled.” Steve covered the man's hands with his own and pulled both to his lips for a brief kiss to each set of knuckles. “Should I pick you up at home?”

“Please.”

Sergeant Barnes was at the house later when Steve went to pick Bucky up. She gave him the evil eye and insisted that his mother was a hamster and his father smelt of elderberries, at which point, he asked her for the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow. She narrowed her eyes at him, called him 'a tricky one' and warned him away from the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog before handing over her brother.

***

Bucky's motorized wheelchair chose that evening to break on through to the other side and would need to be sent away to a repair shop. In the meantime, Steve unloaded a lighter chair from the back of his jeep and positioned it in a proximity that his date could maneuver himself from the passenger seat into the chair with a limited number of steps in between. Once settled, Steve draped a couple bags over his shoulders before pushing the chair out from the parking lot.

People had already gathered. A bonfire could be seen from some distance that was surrounded by a group of camp chairs. Luis manned a table laden with food, and Sam had deemed himself the keeper of the alcohol and was passing out beers.

Several people greeted Steve along the way, and finally, he parked Bucky near the fire before unfolding his own camp chair. Then, he fussed with draping a flannel blanket over Bucky's lap, tucking in the sides security to keep him from getting a chill. “Let me know if you get too cold or the smoke comes back in your face.”

“Steve, it's fine.”

“I thought it would be warmer, but the breeze off the ocean can be--”

“Steve.” Bucky sounded a little more exasperated the second time around. “You're mothering.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Sharon came over then with two beers. “You must be Bucky.”

“He's under age,” Steve supplied.

Bucky, meanwhile, gave him a heated glare. “By a whopping seven months.”

Sharon laughed and gave Bucky the beer anyway. “I'm Sharon. If you need anything, you just let us know. Everyone here is chill. Don't be shy. And when you want another beer, you let me know. I will totally sneak you one without Grampa Rogers getting in the way.”

“Har har. Forgive me if I am a law-abiding citizen.”

“He's totally not,” Sharon cut in. “This guy has an arrest record a mile long.”

Bucky arched a brow in question and twisted the cap of his beer off.

“Don't listen to her. She tells lies.”

“I do not.” One of her arms wrapped around Steve's waist. “Ask Sam. We pulled him out of a bar fight just last week.”

“The guy was harassing the bartender.”

“And the time we bailed you out on New Years Eve?”

“That guy tried to take advantage of a drunk woman.”

“I'm sensing a pattern here,” interjected Bucky.

Luis joined the conversation then by saying, “Tell him about the time my cousin and my roommate's sister's roller derby coach fell foul of this one's moral high ground. Cousin Margarita's on the same roller derby team as my old roommate's sister, Guadalupe. Guadalupe's fine. Got a body that's working from nine to five and these big green eyes. Anyhow, her ex-lover, Angel coaches them. Do not mess with Angel. Let me tell you. That guy's--”

“Skip the details,” Sharon interrupted.

“Right, so they play for this roller derby team named the Honolulu Hornets. And this guy--” Luis stopped and clasped Steve's shoulder. “This guy's bucking for Sainthood or something and hates when people call other people names. So Angel, he goes 'Cousin Margarita, how come you move your ass like great, big, fat, Mama June? Shake that hiney, girl.' And this guy--” Steve received another pat. “He goes sashaying up to Coach Angel and is all 'you shouldn't talk to people that way.' So Coach Angel goes 'you gonna stop me, puto?' And this guy goes 'what did you call me?' 'Cause 'puto' means faggot. And Coach Angel goes 'you heard what I said, puto.' Then this guy straight up haymakers his ass and leaves him drooling on the floor while he goes to watch Supernanny.”

Bucky was in absolute stitches by the time the story was over with.

“People don't have a right to hate speech. Or making sport of people's body types,” Steve said.

“What happened between you and Coach Angel?”

“He invited me out for beers a week later, and we had a fling.”

“You never told me that!” exclaimed Sharon.

And Steve shrugged. “It wasn't really much to speak of. If you know what I mean.”

At which point, Bucky had tears rolling down his eyes from laughing so hard.

“You kissing and telling, Rogers?” asked Sam from over by the gas powered BBQ.

“Me? Never.”

“What can I get you, Bucky?” Luis asked. “We got a full spread here.”

“Um. Just whatever is fine, but you really don't have to go out of your way.”

“Nonsense. We got a full service buffet set up here.”

Things quieted for a moment while the others drifted away to take care of the food and drinks, but Bucky eventually asked, “So an arrest record, huh?”

“If I see a situation pointed south, I have to step in. Although to be fair, a lot of those arrests were from various protests.”

“What were you protesting?”

“Lots of things. LGBT rallies. Animal rights. Black Lives Matter. The Women's March. We did March for Science last year at the Washington Monument. I have another friend, Clint Barton, who is very much into Save the Whales. We got arrested together trying to sabotage the Taiji dolphin hunt.”

“You know Clint Barton?”

“Sure. He's one of my oldest friends.”

“He's my neurologist.”

“Small world.”

Moments later, Luis came back over with plates for them. Steve accepted his with a smile. Coconut shrimp tacos and pineapple salsa awaited there. They ate and chatted about various subjects, but after everyone had eaten their fill, people broke out instruments for an impromptu jam session, filling the beach with boisterous music.

Sam brought Steve a guitar, and Steve settled it in place and strummed out the melody of Bohemian Rhapsody. Sharon's boyfriend, Waku, had brought along a traditional bantu drum from his native people and took up the rhythmic portions of the melody. Someone else had a fiddle that added to the richness of the sound, and a flute eventually joined in. Soon, Sam and Luis took up singing the words. They egged Bucky into adding his own voice during the chorus.

A couple more songs passed before Steve realized Bucky watched him playing, and during a lull, he asked about it. “Do you play?”

“I used to dabble until the accident.” Bucky indicated his left arm. “Hard to keep up with it when the dexterity of your hand is shot.”

“Here, I have an idea.”

Steve moved his chair around to the other side of his date and scooted in as close as he could, resting the main body of the guitar on Bucky's knees. He urged Bucky to take the pick in his right hand while Steve himself settled his fingers along the frets.

A huge grin in place, Bucky strummed a few patterns, leaving Steve to work the frets and change keys and chords. It took them a while of practicing to get themselves coordinated, but eventually, Steve hooked his chin over the other man's shoulder, and together, they played The Original Caste's One Tin Soldier. A fitting choice given Steve's history of protest rallies.

Bucky's voice came on true and clear, singing, “Go ahead and hate your neighbor. Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven. You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing come the Judgment Day. On the bloody morning after, one tin soldier rides away.”

They didn't realize they had a rapt audience until they played the last chords, at which point, Bucky's face turned beet red, and he attempted to hide it in Steve's shoulder. Steve, for his part, cupped the back of the youth's head, smoothing fingers through the loose locks and murmuring quiet words of praise for his date's ears alone. Everyone else? They clapped and demanded an encore.


	6. Jocko The Walrus Plays Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening following Steve and Bucky's date at the beach turns steamy.

It turned chilly after midnight, with ocean breezes rustling palm leaves all along the beach. Those breezes chased Bucky and Steve from the party, followed them back to the jeep, and from there, he had every intention of asking the beefcake if they could go back to Steve's place and cuddle. Naked.

Only, an emergency at Sea Life Park foiled his plans, causing them to detour into the staff parking lot where his date left him waiting in the car with promises of being back shortly. If by 'shortly' Steve meant fifteen minutes of abject boredom. He could hardly blame the man, though, when he got a text saying Marvel was having complications that needed emergency treatment.

He thought about calling his sister. That would have been the smartest and safest plan of action, but they'd been having such a good night he didn't want to go home. Also? He was really worried about Marvel. Which was the excuse he gave himself when he got out of the jeep.

Standing wasn't the trouble. With the solid body of the vehicle to lean against, it wasn't too much of a strain. Getting the wheelchair out was a totally different matter. Between his lack of back strength and his weakened arm, he couldn't quite get the chair free without pulling something.

He managed it on the third try, and by that point, his legs shook so badly he came close to sitting down where he stood. Relief left him quivering with spent adrenaline when he finally unfolded the chair and collapsed into it, at which point, he faced the dire prospect of manually wheeling himself into the facility. Not an easy task with only one good arm.

That lively adventure, on the other hand, rewarded him with seeing Steve's shocked expression when Bucky finally rolled through the veterinary clinic doors. Nat paused in what she was doing to wave.

“Buck, how did you... Never mind. Are you okay?”

“Just wanted to come make sure Marvel is all right.”

“His O2 levels dropped dangerously,” Nat commented, “and I needed another pair of hands to help me scope him.” The vet indicated an endoscope.

“Is it bad?”

“He's showing signs of lung infection, so we gave him a breathing treatment, and I'm putting him on steroids to help combat the inflammation. Marvel is a very sick turtle, Mr. Barnes.”

“Please. Bucky. Do you think he'll pull through?”

“It's impossible to tell. Most don't once lung infection sets in. I'm sorry. I wish I had better news.”

The similarities between Marvel and himself were not lost on him. He felt a connection with the turtle that went more than skin deep, so the idea of him not making it was enough to leave Bucky shaken, but that didn't explain the tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks. Getting attached to an injured animal was always a bad idea. What if getting attached to an injured human was the same?

He was vaguely aware of Steve asking if he was still needed. Upon being told no, the other man came over to crouch in front of him, warm hands covering Bucky's knees.

“Don't give up hope, yet. He's fighting for his life, but the outcome isn't written in stone.”

“I know, I'm just...” He didn't know how to finish and smiled a sad sort of smile.

“You're cold.” Steve's hands covered his and chafed along his arms. “Let's go back to my office and get you warmed up. Should have a thicker jacket there for you. I'll take you home in a bit.”

Burying his nose in the sleeves of his thin hoodie, he nodded, relieved when the other man grasped the handles of his chair and pushed him across the park and into the building under the whale enclosure. Sure beat rowing a boat with only one oar.

Steve switched on the lamp next to his desk before grabbing a wool-lined jacket that Bucky soon found himself ensconced inside, and some part of him melted over being taken care of so well. It brought a smile to his face. He reached up and cupped Steve's cheeks to pull the man down for a kiss, the slow sort of kiss that gave him ample time to revel in the soft lips against his, to bask in the closeness of Steve's body, who went into a crouch in front of Bucky to even out the angle.

Maybe the kiss was going somewhere. Maybe it wasn't. He would never know since a pair of peeping beluga whales spoiled the moment when they arrived to hover outside the viewing windows in Steve's office. Both nodded their heads. One blew a bubble. Bucky, who happened to catch sight of it over his date's shoulder, giggled into the kiss, and the moment was broken.

“Hey,” Steve began, “you wanna meet Jocko while we're here?”

“Of course. I absolutely want to meet Jocko.”

They took the underground tunnels out to the walrus exhibit and went into the back of the building via Steve's key card. Then, moving through an opening, they came to a large natural-looking pool. Several female walruses reclined on boulders in the middle of the pool, but Steve used a whistle to call the big male in from his beaching area.

Jocko lumbered up ashore and blew kisses using a front flipper.

“Jocko has a weight problem. Because he's lazy,” Steve commented. “Actually, we took him from a rescue operation. He was injured, and his previous caregivers didn't take proper care of him. He's much too obese to go back into the wild, and even if he could, he became too acclimated to humans.”

“Hi, Joko,” Bucky greeted.

The walrus stretched out a flipper.

Bucky was happy to shake said flipper, laughing as he did so.

“Jocko, what does a teapot do when the water's ready?” Steve asked.

The walrus whistled a long, high note.

“He's so smart!” Then, after a beat of silence, he inquired, “Can I ask him a question?”

“Go ahead.”

Bucky leaned a little closer to share a conspiratorial moment with the walrus. “Jocko, do you think Steve and I are ready to take our relationship to the next level?”

Jocko seemed to think for a moment before nodding his big, whiskered head up and down.

“And do you think that I should take Steve back to his office and take advantage of him?”

Again, the walrus contemplated his response.

But Bucky caught a glimpse of motion from his peripheral vision, a shadow cast against the concrete by back-lighting from the prep area they'd come through. Steve moved his hand up and down.

Jocko finally nodded.

“I saw that hand gesture,” he accused.

Steve, caught in the act, turned beet red and looked for a means of escape.

“And I'm glad you did it,” finished Bucky.

“Really?”

“Yes. I want to make love with you. So badly. If you'll have me.”

Rather than responding, Steve cupped the side of his face and leaned down for another kiss. “No pressure, okay? I want to be with you, but I don't want you to regret it in the morning.”

“Beefcake, I might not remember it in the morning.” He knew it was a bad joke when the other man's expression dimmed. “Sorry. That was inappropriate, but Steve, that has to be the reality you're ready for. There's a good chance I might not remember being with you tonight. If that's a hard stop for you, then we need to figure that out now.”

A frighteningly long moment passed before the other man said, “It's not. If you forget in the morning, I'll just spend tomorrow getting to know you again.”

“Then let's go back to your office and make use of that nice, big sofa you have.”

Steve pushed him back through the prep area and into the underground tunnels, all the while, Bucky's hand stretched over his own shoulder in order to rest it atop one of Steve's. They kept to their own thoughts until arriving, and once there, Steve went about unfolding the sofa into a bed.

“I need a minute alone,” Bucky said. “To-- I have to remove my catheter and see if my ostomy bag needs to be changed. Sex isn't going to be--” He tried to think of a way to say it only to be cut off by Steve crouching in front of him.

“Bucky, I want you the way you are. Go take care of what you need to take care of, and I'll be waiting for you when you get back. We're going to make each other feel so good, Beautiful.”

Giddiness washed through him when he locked the bathroom door. Just the idea of being surrounded by, consumed with, Steve Rogers was enough to make his heart rate increase. Never in a million years had he dreamed they would be poised at this moment, getting ready to be intimate together, that someone so beautiful and wonderful would want him the way he was.

So he worked through the process of changing his bag. There was some fecal matter inside, and the last thing he wanted was to pop a bag while having sex. The smell would kill the mood pretty quickly. Then, he tossed the used one and replaced it with a new one from his messenger bag. 

Only then did he work the catheter from his urethra. He didn't always have to cath given that he still had quite a bit of sensation. His spine doctor called his injury a Class C Incomplete spinal cord injury wherein most of his sensation was preserved and he still retained some motor function. He'd actually gotten back some mobility that had once been lost. But he'd decided to use a catheter that night since he hadn't had ready access to a bathroom.

Pulling the tube out caused a reflex erection, and he dropped his hand to his penis to stroke it a few times to allow the grip of his own fist to spread excitement through his body. Finally ready, he wheeled himself from the bathroom to greet Steve, who had stripped down to his boxer briefs and was sitting at the edge of the thin mattress.

The other man grinned when Bucky presented him with a condom and a small container of lube.

“You're sure about this?” asked Steve.

“Look at you, Beefcake. I'm positive.” Bucky grazed his knuckles down Steve's cheek and allowed his hand to fall onto the man's collarbone.

“Can you-- Will you be able to-- Fuck. I don't know how task this.”

“Just say what you're thinking.”

“I don't know how much sensation you have. Will this feel good for you? Will you be able to have an orgasm? Tell me what I need to know to make this good for you.”

Wiping the smile off his face wasn't possible. “Thank you so much for asking. Most of my sensation is still alive. By the way, if you tickle my feet, I will find a way to brain you, and really, this relationship can only handle one brain injury, right?”

Steve's answering smile was soft.

“You'll need to help me move my legs around where you need them or help me hold them up. I could do it myself for a while, but they tire easily. My prostate still works fine. Please, pay special attention to my prostate. I'll love you for it forever. And I can still orgasm normally.”

“Okay. What about-- Will I hurt you or make the spine injury worse?”

“No. You can't make it worse.”

“Do you want to top or bottom? I don't know anything about-- Can you even bottom?”

“I can. My surgeon left my rectum and intestines intact so we could reverse the colostomy when I have enough mobility not to need it anymore. It's right there in bold print at the start of my journal. Stevie, I want you inside me. Just go gently and use lots of lube.”

“Can I put you into bed? I want to.”

Normally, he would have denied the request. He had a thing about being man-handled in situations where he could accomplish the same feat himself, but this seemed important to Steve; he could compromise this once and nodded.

Steve's strong arms cradled him. His strong back lifted him. Bucky's arm wrapped around the man's shoulders to stabilize himself. Next, he was lowered gently into the middle of the fold-out sofa and settled there comfortably, at which point, he smiled up at Steve and opened his arms.

“Help me with these before we get started.” He indicated his jeans, and his soon-to-be-lover was quick to unfasten them and drag them down his body. They hit the floor followed by Bucky's boxers and Steve's boxer briefs.

Only then, did Steve stretch out beside him.

He could admit to a sudden burst of shyness. No one but his father, sister, and doctors had seen him naked since the accident. At least not that he could remember. Suddenly having Steve's eyes upon him did unexpected things to his self-confidence, and he wound up draping his arm over his middle in an effort to hide the ostomy bag.

Steve didn't let him retreat. Calloused fingertips skimmed down that forearm so fingers could lace with fingers. “You don't need to hide, Buck. You're beautiful. Every part of you is beautiful.”

Heat flooded his cheeks, and he turned to press his face into the man's chest, into the miles and miles of golden skin and heat and velvet, and he gasped when Steve's palm pulled the knuckles clutching his stoma site up for a brief kiss.

“Look at you,” the other man murmured, hot breath fanning his ear before a tongue traced the shell, causing Bucky to shiver. “Just look at you, Beautiful. You take my breath away.”

A broad palm curled over his bare hip. It glided down the outside of his thigh, ruffling the dark hair sprinkled across his skin, and skimmed up the softer insides. He didn't go right for his groin, though, not yet. Instead, the hand lingered, fingers combing through the nest of dark hair from which his cock, a little wilted from neglect, sprouted.

Steve touched him. He didn't try to hurry things along, just explored him, stimulating nerve endings and bringing heat and pleasure zinging to the surface of his skin. His groin, his stomach, his sternum. Fingers splayed along his bicep, and a thumb traced gentle circles around a dusky nipple until the nub pulled into a tight kernel and he gasped with the sensation.

“God, no one's touched my like this in forever.”

He lifted his head for a kiss and wasn't denied. Lips rasped against his, and he immediately opened, invited the other man's tongue to dip into the hot recesses of his mouth. Steve's tongue curled behind Bucky's teeth to skim the sensitive roof. The only thing he could think to do in return was capture that wandering hand, hook his fingers around the wrist, and pull said arm tight across his upper body.

Dazed, he didn't feel the scalding hardness of Steve's cock against his hip at first, not until his lover rutted gently against him, skimming the blood-warm flesh along his own skin. It was enough to bring him back into the moment, at which point, he guided Steve's palm down his body until it settled over Bucky's cock.

Steve curled his fingers to cradle the shaft and sac.

A mew of sound escaped him, and he rocked into the contact until Steve finally got with the program and fisted his cock. He broke away from the kiss in order to gasp in several deep breaths then dug his head back into a pillow.

“Like that. Please.”

A hot body pressed against him, a hot hand wrapped his cock, a thumb dipped against the slit to gather beads of moisture collecting there to smooth the pre-come around the shaft, it was almost more than he could take, so he reached out for Steve's erection, felt the weight of it against his palm, the smooth silk of delicate skin.

Steve didn't let him stroke very long, though, before his hand was moved aside. “Keep doing that, and this is gonna be over way too soon.”

It made Bucky smirk. “Be a nice stroke to my ego.”

“But a poor showing of my stamina.”

Steve's mouth covered his again, but this time, Bucky was the one to delve into the wet between his lover's lips. He kissed the man deeply, sucked on his tongue, and pushed Steve's hand down behind his ball sac to show what he craved.

That was all the prompting needed, as Steve pressed a blunt fingertip against his hole. He was gentle at first, teasing rather than penetrating, but just as it was becoming maddening, the fingertip breached the tight furl of muscle and slipped in up to the second knuckle. He'd forgotten how gently it burned.

“Fuck, you're tight,” the other man moaned.

“Won't be for long. What do you think happens to the sphincter muscle when you shit through your stomach?”

Steve huffed. “You're not as funny as you think you are.”

“Oh, but I am.”

His giggle turned into a moan when Steve finally found his prostate and rubbed against it. The stimulation hit him with such intensity it made his body bow, made him reach to clasp the nape of Steve's neck to keep him from pulling away.

“Right there,” he breathed. “Fuck, just like that.”

The finger returned with a second, both digits going slowly to give his body plenty of time to adjust. Steve eased them in gently only to begin thrusting them, each inward motion scraping the tips against his prostate and sending sparks dancing along his nerve endings. He let Steve drink his cries. He drowned in the hedonistic heat warming his skin. 

Teeth pulling against Steve's lip, he danced his fingers down the man's spine to grip onto a firm flank where fingers dug into the muscle. The addiction was complete and overpowering. First, the firm press in. Then the pleasure jolting through his prostate. Finally, the slow drag out. Only for Steve to break the pattern by resting both fingertips against his prostate and moving them in butterfly flutters that made his balls tighten and pull close to his body.

“Shit,” he gasped. “You're gonna make me come.”

“That's the idea,” Steve whispered against his ear.

“Kinda wanna come with you inside me, though.”

“I am inside you.”

Was that an impish smile lighting up Steve's face?

“Is that an impish smile, or are you just naughty? I meant your cock, Beefcake!” Delivered with a gentle whack of his palm against the man's shoulder. Wasn't like his palm could cause any serious damage to shoulders like those.

“Roll into your side.”

Bucky did as requested.

Steve used his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper and rolled it into position. He squirted lube into his palm and stroked himself, adding a few more squirts into the cleft of Bucky's cheeks for good measure. Only then did the blunt head ease into the tight hole awaiting him.

Bucky couldn't suppress a moan.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. Feels good.”

He tipped his head back against Steve's shoulder and lifted a leg to drape it back across the man's thigh. They took things slow, with gentle pulses of Steve's hips while the man cradled a big palm across Bucky's lower stomach to hold him in place. Until finally, finally his lover bottomed out.

And fuck, holding that blood-hot hardness inside him was everything. It was all-consuming. Every fiber of his being became attuned to the presence of his lover in his ass and all around him. It encouraged him to shift forward and press back until Steve relented and retreated only to fill him again, to take up all the spaces inside his body so that he felt possessed and cherished.

Steve's hand abandoned him, skimmed down his arm so they could lace their fingers together, and pulled the arm up close to his chest to hold him bound and safe in the curl of his lover's body. Then he moved. With exquisite care. And their world narrowed to hot breaths upon neck and hard bodies dancing together toward mutual oblivion.

It was the slow pull out and the quick push in. It was melting. Muscles melting around his lover's hard cock. Body melting like warm beeswax into the man's flesh behind him. And he couldn't catch his breath. And he felt light-headed. And he was so fucking close.

The tempo increased. Steve's groin slapped gently against his ass cheeks. A big palm grasped Bucky's trembling inner thigh to help hold his leg in the air. Tension pooled in his loins.

He shouted, quick and breathless and pumped his own cock in counterpoint to Steve's thrusts. Then came the snap of tension and the hot rush of semen as the orgasm broke over him like a wave. Crashing then ebbing as every muscle went tight and then loose.

Steve didn't last much longer, just a few more quick thrusts, and the man's teeth dug into the back of his shoulder to somehow stifle the man's moans. He wasn't disappointed. Sure, he wanted to hear the depths of his lover's pleasure. They could work on getting Steve not to muffle himself.

For now, Bucky just relaxed back against him while they caught their breath. And eventually, he was rewarded with a giddy smile and Steve's lips soothing the bite where teeth had earlier been used.

After a while, Steve pulled him close to cradle him tight and murmured, “Don't go to sleep.”

“Mmhmm. Not gonna.”

***

Bucky woke disoriented. A warm body cradled up behind his back. Another person's breathing fanned against the back of his neck. Pepper had broken up with him last week, so there shouldn't be anyone in his bed. Cautiously, he shifted away from the body and turned over.

The man beside him was a stranger. He was in bed with a stranger. He was not in his own bed with a stranger. Fight or flight instinct kicked in, and he kicked out at the man. Only his legs didn't work. Why the Hell didn't his legs work? Toes twitched in response, but the power that should have driven his heel into the sleeping man's groin was absent.

His legs didn't work, and he was naked and in a strange bed with a strange man.

Desperate to get away, he wormed toward the edge of the bed but misjudged the distance and wound up rolling onto the floor, hitting with a hard thud as his cheek impacted against a concrete floor. It ripped a soft moan from him.

Being on the floor didn't solve his dilemma, though. He tried to stand, managed to curl his legs, but couldn't find the power to push himself to his feet. So his breathing thundered out of control. He became keenly aware of how vulnerable he was.

Above him, the pull out sofa creaked.

“Buck?”

Bucky scrambled to hide himself beneath the pull out section as a pair of bare feet stepped onto the floor. Said feet danced briefly from the cold.

“Buck, you in the bathroom?”

He squeezed his eyes closed. How could this be happening to him? He didn't drink. Didn't do drugs. Couldn't have gotten sloshed and picked up some rando to have a one-night-stand with, and the last thing he remembered was going home early from work to get ready for the family's annual camping trip. Only Becca wouldn't be joining them that year. She had an appointment with the enlistment office, was finally fulfilling her dream of joining the military.

Eventually, the stranger padded around the foot of the pull out and spied him. He crouched. “Are you okay? What happened?”

A hand stretched toward him.

Panic blotted out his rational thought. He pulled away from the searching hand. “Don't touch me!”

The stranger hesitated before pulling his hand back.

“Who are you? How did I get here? Did we--” Bucky gulped. “I don't remember coming here. Did you kidnap me? Did you drug me? How did I get here?” Each question sounded more panicked than the last. By the time he reached the last question, he was practically screaming.

Something dark and heartbroken pinched the other man's expression, and he got up, placing several spaces of distance between them. “I'm Steve, Bucky. We-- Uh. I'm your boyfriend. We made love last night for the first time.”

Bucky shook his head in denial. He would remember if he had a boyfriend. “You're lying. I've never seen you before in my life.”

Tears gathered in the man's lashes. “Beautiful, you were in an accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury and a spinal cord injury. Sometimes, you can't process new memories.”

“My phone. If you really don't want to hurt me, then get me my phone.”

Steve immediately went to a messenger bag slung across a wheelchair and retrieved the device. He didn't directly hand it to Bucky but slid it across the floor instead in order to maintain their distance.

Bucky dialed his dad.

Dad answered, “Hi, Buck. You okay?”

“I'm in a strange office with a strange man who says he's my boyfriend. Dad, I don't remember. I don't freaking remember. Please come get me. Please.”

His dad's voice turned soothing. “Okay, Champ. I'll be right there. You just hold tight and tell Steve to keep his distance from you.”

“I don't remember. Why don't my legs work?”

“Hey, Buddy, I need you to slow your breathing down, okay? Don't want you to hyperventilate. Take deep breaths. I'm on my way. Stay on the phone with me.”

Bucky did. Eventually, Steve pushed his clothes across the floor, and he struggled into them to at least have some barrier against the stranger seeing his nudity. He glanced up at one point to see thick tears spilling down the man's cheeks, but he was in no condition or position to try to offer any sort of comfort, too scared and uncertain to worry about a stranger's emotions.

After requesting the chair, he struggled up into it to get himself situated and at least get off the cold floor, at which point, Steve said he needed to go unlock the front gate for Bucky's father. The respite of being away from the other man was a much-needed break from his mounting paranoia. It gave him a chance to calm the heck down and make himself presentable for his father.

It wasn't long before George Barnes rushed into the office ahead of Steve and crouched in front of Bucky, both palms lifting to cup Bucky's cheeks. “You're okay, Champ. I'm here now. Let's get you home where you're comfortable, yeah?”

All he could do was nod.

George, meanwhile, turned around and snapped, “We will have words later.”

“I'm sorry, Buck,” Steve, looking defeated, said.

It was the last words he allowed Steve to speak before his dad rushed him from the office.


	7. Clint Barton Saves Whales In His Spare Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall out from Steve and Bucky's first time together, and Steve makes strides to understand Bucky's condition and his family dynamics.

Hours after George Barnes took Bucky home, Sam found Steve slumped in the corner of his office, knees drawn up to his chest, head resting against upturned knees. Chaos surrounded him. The worst of his grief had been expelled hurling equipment around the room and putting holes in the wall. 

Anger had since fled, leaving behind hollow grief.

The night before had been one of the best of his life. Holding Bucky, being intimate with him, easing into the man's body and knowing he was trusted had been a moment to cherish, a moment devoid of the effects of war. There had been peace.

And it was all gone.

Knowing there was a chance Bucky wouldn't remember and actively experiencing it were two different things. He supposed it might not have been so traumatic if Bucky hadn't been so scared and panicked upon waking. Maybe he could have dealt with confusion better, but nothing could erase the abject look of fear in the other man's eyes when Steve had approached.

“Hey, Man. What's wrong?” Sam's hand smoothed his hair back.

“Bucky and I made love last night. He woke up this morning and couldn't remember me.”

“Shit.” That one word conveyed every nurturing fiber of Sam's body, and the man slid into place beside him to wrap an arm around Steve's shoulders. “Fuck, Man, that's awful. I can't imagine how that must make you feel.”

“Best night of my fucking life, and he doesn't remember. All because of some stupid fucking accident. Why does shit always rain down on the good ones?”

“I don't know.”

A moment of quiet settled around them.

Eventually, he raked fingers through hair. “I don't know what to do.”

“Do you care about him?”

“Yeah. A lot. I might even love him.”

“Then you gotta give him some space to think. Yourself, too. Decide if moments like these are worth the good times. 'Cause it's gonna happen again. Only you can decide if the good outweighs the bad.”

It was good advice. He couldn't bury his head in the sand on this one or ignore the possibility. Could he live a lifetime seeing that terror directed toward him?

Fury edged its way past his confusion when he realized that one word from George Barnes could have calmed Bucky down. All George had needed to do was confirm that Steve was indeed Bucky's boyfriend, and it might have mitigated some of Bucky's fear. But George Barnes hadn't said that.

George Barnes had allowed Bucky to remain being afraid. Because George Barnes was a co-dependent asshole who'd become so deeply entrenched with the idea of being Bucky's only source of comfort that he was willing to let his son hurt. All to preserve their co-dependency.

Fuck.

Eventually, Steve hauled himself to his feet. “I should get to work. Marvel was sick last night.”

“Nat said Marvel improved overnight.”

That was at least a relief.

“Yo, Steve?”

He paused on the way out the door.

“Nat's having her monthly movie night this Friday. You should come. Bring Bucky.”

“If he's still speaking to me.”

Going through his daily routine helped take his mind off his relationship troubles. He scheduled meal plans, finalized an exercise regime for the walruses, and approved an enrichment program to help the animals feel challenged in their environments. When he was done with paperwork, he rescued Willie from the penguin enclosure for the daily penguin encounter.

Slipping into his public speaking persona alleviated most of his earlier stress. Sam called it his Captain America voice. Steve secretly wanted to punch the guy every time he mentioned Steve's former call sign, but he was really trying not to punch his way out of his problems these days.

Willie was a huge hit, as usual, and he allowed himself to enjoy interacting with the kids who hanged around for the brief meet and greet following the demonstration. One day, he wanted children of his own, so interacting with the youngsters warmed the chill clinging to his insides.

His favorite part of the day, though, was the walrus show. That was when he got the chance to show off his training skills, which he was working hard to improve. He changed into a wetsuit and headed backstage at the walrus lagoon, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of brine, fish, and water.

Ororo, who was working the show with him, greeted him with a warm smile. He asked her about her fiance, T'Challa, and they spent a few minutes chatting while making sure the props were in order. 

Finally, they headed out onto the stage, which was a concrete slab at the edge of the lagoon. It was partitioned off from guest seating by a reinforced fence. No one was taking chances with the animals after the Harambe tragedy at the Cincinnati Zoo. A child had gotten through security measures and fallen into the moat. Harambe, a gorilla, had been shot and killed as a result.

They did a quick mic check before welcoming visitors and quickly called the walruses in from their lagoon with a pair of whistles. Three females, Gerta, Betsy, and Brunhild, wiggled themselves onto the show stage. Jocko couldn't be arsed to climb off his rock in the middle of the lagoon.

His reluctance got the crowd chuckling, and eventually, Steve used fish to coax the lazy twerp onto the show platform. He waggled his finger at the reluctant hero. Jocko made chattering sounds and covered his eyes with a front flipper until Steve relented and gave him fish to snack on.

The show started with Ororo prompting Gerta to roll three-hundred sixty degrees, at feat for which she demanded treats and was promptly rewarded.

Not to be outdone, Steve moved Jocko forward.

“Let's see if those fish helped him to feel a little more cooperative. Everybody say 'Roll over, Jocko!'”

The crowd repeated the command while Steve made the corresponding hand gesture. Jocko heaved himself into motion, but rather than rolling three-hundred sixty degrees, he rolled onto his back and spread his limbs out to either side. The crowd laughed.

Huffing, Steve threw his hands in the air and hurried over to mime attempting to physically roll the walrus the rest of the way. Which got him nowhere. Jocko weighed four thousand pounds.

In response, Jocko closed his front flippers around Steve's head and rocked them side to side, Steve carefully clasping the walrus' tusks to avoid his head banging against them. When he was finally released, Jocko slapped his front flippers together, which prompted the crowd to join in clapping.

As Jocko backed toward the rear of the platform, their soundtrack played the beeping that accompanied heavy equipment backing up. Once in position, Jocko pressed his flipper to his mouth to mime gasping and received lots of praise and treats when he successfully completed their comedy segment.

Next, it was Betsy's turn to take center stage. Ororo positioned Betsy near the front of the stage and prompted the cow into rolling over. Once done, Betsy obliged their hand signals and turned around to wiggle her rear end at the audience while Ororo danced beside her.

Steve, meanwhile, encouraged Brunhild and Jocko to whistle together in imitation of a song, at the end of which, the bull and cow moved toward each other to exchange a kiss. The audience ate it up.

Together, they encouraged their four charges to play ball and fling water at the crowd, and for their closing act, they introduced a series of large, plastic trumpets. Each walrus tucked their hind legs beneath them to free up their front flippers and clasped the instruments so they could mime playing. 

As part of the script, Jocko blatantly refused, swinging his giant head back and forth. Steve, giving an exaggerated sigh, leaned down and kissed Jocko's cheek. The walrus seemed to consider the bribe before kissing Steve's cheek in turn and finally accepting his horn. The sound track played in time with the walruses to produce the actual music, and they closed the show to thunderous applause.

After the show, Hope van Dyne, his boss, scheduled an interview for him with a local news channel. They were doing a story on special interest groups protesting the use of animals in aquatic shows. Things had gone to shit in the aquatic community after the airing of Blackfish. Trying to climb out from under its shadow was difficult.

It wasn't an easy interview for him to give. Why Hope had selected him remained a mystery, but he answered the reporter's questions as well as he could, happy to point out that Sea Life Park actively attempted to release each animal they took in. Sometimes, though, an animal couldn't safely return to the wild. Those were the animals they used in their daily shows, animals who would be left to swim in circles around their enclosures without the enrichment of socializing and trick training.

So Steve was already keyed up from the interview when he exited the park that afternoon with every intention of going home and drowning himself in a bucket of Vodka. Only the sight of Rebecca Barnes leaning against his jeep stopped him cold. A soft groan of dread escaped. Part of him wanted to high-tail it back into the park and hide, but he refused to back down.

Rather, he walked over next to his jeep to face her head on.

“Brock Rumlow.”

He waited for her to continue.

“That was the last person Bucky went out with. Rumlow stuck around for a while. He picked Bucky up. Took him places. Pretended like Bucky's challenges weren't going to be an issue. One night, after a string of good days, Rumlow talked my brother into having sex. We never heard from him again.

“Bucky was crushed when Rumlow didn't call back. Then, he woke up one morning convinced he was still going out with Pepper Potts, his high school sweetheart. Totally forgot all about Rumlow. It was easier to just let him forget than have to make him relive that pain.

“Before that, there was Meriem Drew. She picked him up at a party. Had a one-night stand with him. He called her the next morning. She told him he was good for a lay but that she didn't want a relationship with a cripple. Alexander Pierce took nude photos of him. Put them up on a porn site. You'd be fucking surprised how many sick bastards want fetish photos of paraplegics.

“Then there was Victor Creed, Mallory Brickman--”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Her glare was cold and level. “Do you really?”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Sergeant Barnes?” he snapped.

She pushed away from his jeep and got up in his face. “I wanna be able to trust your goddamn ass with my brother's heart, but experience leads me to think you'll bail on him the way the others have.

“See, you're not the one who held Bucky this morning while he sobbed his eyes out. You're not the one who listened to his heart break for not remembering having sex with the guy who was supposed to be his boyfriend--”

“Maybe if your goddamn dad had told him over the phone that I was safe!”

Becca cringed. “My dad--” She took another breath. “My dad liked you until he realized what you dating Bucky really meant, that Bucky was growing up and moving away from him.”

“That's what kids are supposed to do.”

“Tell that to the shrine my dad's built to his guilt. How the fuck do you think he feels? He's the one who was driving that car.”

That shut Steve up enough to give himself a moment to think about the situation. Guilt like that could change a man? He knew what it could do to a person's emotional state.

“After he stopped crying and went through his journal, he suddenly realized you were telling the truth, that you were in fact his boyfriend and that he does have feelings for you. God, you should have seen him. It gutted him when he realized how his episode might have made you feel.”

“Shit. He doesn't need to feel bad about me on top of what he's already going through.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. Because that's what normal boyfriends do when they realize they've hurt their significant other. See, your first mistake was not having a plan in place for when his memory issues acted up. You've gotta have a plan in place.

“Second, you didn't call. You left him to fester all goddamn day.”

“Why in the fuck would I when you and your father have made it abundantly clear I'm no better than Brock Rumlow in your eyes? I want Bucky in my life, but he needs his dad and sister more. I will not come between the three of you. It would be selfish and cruel.”

She searched his expression for something. After she found what she was looking for, she said, “Bucky's got an appointment with his doctors tomorrow. It's a big one. They're gonna run a bunch of scans and see if his condition has improved at all. Can you get off work to ride shotgun?”

The question startled him, but he still answered without hesitation. “Yeah. I can take a personal day.”

“Be at the house no later than nine.”

“Does he want me there?”

“Right now, he's so confused he doesn't know what he wants, but this is your test. You really want to be with my brother, you need to show up and find out the extent of what you're getting yourself into. If you don't show up, don't bother calling him again. You run out on him the way others have, and I'll break your goddamn kneecaps. I don't care if you're Captain-fucking-America.”

He believed her, too. She was that defensive of her baby brother.

***

Coffee in a paper cup and a DVD case in the passenger seat, Steve parked outside the Barnes residence at eight thirty and climbed out, bringing both coffee and DVD to the front door with him. Becca answered with a nod and threw open the screen door for him to enter, pointing him toward the kitchen where Bucky was eating a bowl of cereal at the table.

The other man eased his spoon down into the milk and looked up, a little uncertain and a lot sheepish. “Sorry about yesterday morning. There are notes in my journal about you. We went to Alani's tutu's wedding lu'au together. You're eyes are fantastically blue. We're dating. I didn't have my journal.”

“You don't need to apologize, Buck.” He crouched beside the man's wheelchair and rested his hand over Bucky's forearm. “I understand.”

“It had to hurt, though.”

“It did. Not gonna lie, but let's see where we go from here, yeah?”

Bucky nodded and leaned forward for a quick kiss.

It was everything he'd wanted yesterday morning to be, so he flattened his palm along the man's jaw in order to press into the kiss, inhaling a lungful of Bucky's favorite cologne. Then, leaning back on his heels, he smiled and flattened his boyfriend's hair.

“Hey, I've got something for you. I thought we might watch it together when you're done eating.”

The other man finished quietly while Sergeant Barnes directed him over to the television and the DVD player hidden amongst game consoles, controllers, and various cases. His boyfriend was apparently very messy and preferred racing and puzzle games as opposed to first person shooters. 

By the time Becca pushed her brother's chair in to join them, he had the DVD loaded and pressed play.

A black screen appeared. White font read “Everything is going to be okay... but here are a few things you missed this year.” What followed were short clips of various important events from the past year: Bernie Sanders being inaugurated followed by the words “kidding,” a picture of a Cheetos with Trump's face attached being inaugurated president followed by “not kidding,” photos of the Women's March from around the world, the US bombing of Syria, scenes from the March for Science, a picture of Maribel Trujillo Diaz being deported to Mexico without being allowed to take her four US born children, North Korea heading toward armament, and photos of the reconstruction of New York.

The video transitioned into displaying, “You might not remember these events because...” followed by footage of news clippings of the accident that read “Stray Cow Causes Accident” along with photos of the SUV that had carried George and Bucky Barnes. Subtitles read “A vehicle being driven by George Barnes struck a tree when a stray cow ran into the road. His son was traveling with him. Both victims were rushed to Queen's Medical Center and remain in critical condition.” Following that were photos of Bucky chasing Rebecca, Alani, and George down the beach in his wheelchair.

Then, Steve, standing in the Hukilau Cafe, appeared on screen.

“Aloha, I'm Steve Rogers. We met here at the Hukilau Cafe in August, about a year after your accident. I like you, and you like me. Most days.”

Bucky chuckled.

“Every day for us is different, but this is basically what happens. The part of you is being played by my good friend, Sam Wilson.”

Sam came into the camera's range in a wheelchair with a messenger bag slung over the back. He rolled himself into position at Bucky's usual table where they'd set up a waffle house. He said, “Aloha. Sorry about your brain.”

Bucky, ever adorable, wiggled his fingers at the screen to wave hello.

Video-Steve approached the table. “Mind if I join you?”

Sam said, “It's a free country.”

“My name is Steve Rogers.” He offered his hand across the table.

“Bucky Barnes,” Sam responded while accepting the hand. Leave it to Sam to take things one step further than they needed to go, as he started making eyes at Steve and puckering up for kisses.

“I work at Sea Life Park and am thinking about getting my masters in marine biology.”

“Marine biology makes me super horny,” Sam said and reached across the table to start kissing all over Steve's hand in the most suggestive manner possible.

“Don't do that,” Steve said. “I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes, it's very late, and my friend is a bit unstable. Come on. Stop with the licking. You're making me very uncomfortable!”

Because Sam had progressed to licking Steve's hand.

“Bucky, I'm sorry. This doesn't happen every day.”

But Bucky laughed and pressed fingertips against his lips.

“Anyway, I wish I was making all this up, and you didn't have to go through so many challenges, but the good news is that there are so many people who love and support you that you somehow manage to make every day special. People like your dad and sister, and a couple of your friends here at the Hukilau who wanted to say hello.”

The footage transitioned to Alani standing on the porch of the cafe. “Bucky, you're my best friend. That's why we promised each other we'd always look out for one another. Sometimes life isn't very fair, but you're still with us. That's the only thing that matters. And if you're wondering about this Steve guy, he's pretty cool. You could do so much worse than a giant Golden Retriever.”

Leolani and Anna-Ikaika appeared on the screen next. Anna-Ikaika said, “While you were in your coma, I was elected governor of Hawaii.” She broke into a smile. “Just kidding. I'm too smart to be governor.”

Bucky nodded along with the sentiment.

“Thank you for being at my wedding lu'au. It meant so much to Sophie and I. I hope you get the chance one day to understand what it feels like to give yourself wholeheartedly to someone else.”

Leolani barged in to say, “Take it easy on this Steve guy. He really seems to care about you.”

It changed back to Steve sitting in the Hukilau. “So whenever you're ready, we'd all love to talk to you and answer any questions you might have, and you're the best, Bucky. Aloha.”

The screen faded to black.

Bucky needed a minute to gather his thoughts, at the end of which, he looked to his father. “How many times have I watched this video?”

“This is the first,” George responded.

The other man was quiet before finally spying the thick journal perched on the coffee table. He picked it up to flip through, eventually coming to the last page. 

Steve tried to respect his privacy and not look any closer, but he couldn't help it when there, in giant red ink, it said “You're in love with Steve Rogers. It's the most amazing feeling in the world. Tonight, after our beach date, you're going to ask him to make love with you.”

***

Dr. Clint Barton worked out of a facility specializing in the treatment of people with traumatic brain injuries. Part of its floor space was dedicated to a live-in rehabilitation center for those whose injuries prevented them from living independently.

Steve felt the weight of Bucky's situation the moment he stepped through the front doors and realized the fate his boyfriend had narrowly missed, felt the hopelessness of those residents whose conditions were worse. Thinking about Bucky living in a facility like Dr. Barton's made him nauseous.

A nurse at the front desk flagged them through the lobby. They took an elevator to the fifth floor and exited into what appeared to be an activity room. Numerous patients gathered around tables where nurses led them through a crafting session. 

There, they bumped into a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Tom.

Bucky greeted Tom in a friendly manner and asked if Tom's wife had been by to see him yet.

Rather than responding, Tom blinked rapidly. Momentary confusion bled across his expression and cleared moments before the guy reintroduced himself.

Steve shook the man's hand and responded in kind.

Dr. Barton came around the corner with a nurse before the cycle could repeat itself and said, “Tom, it's time for PT. Anna here will take you back and get you started.”

Tom moved a step forward and thrust his hand toward Anna. “Hi, I'm Tom.”

“Hi, Tom. I'm Anna.”

Steve was gonna be sick. Despite the patient's obvious confusion, there was something alert residing behind Tom's eyes. The man wasn't completely unaware of his situation. He seemed to know something was wrong but couldn't comprehend precisely what, leaving him caught in a loop and unable to move forward into his own future.

The weight of Tom's situation showed on Clint's face when he returned his attention to their group. “Hi, Bucky. How are you feeling today?”

Bucky made a face and danced his hand back and forth in a “so-so” gesture.

Clint then greeted the rest of them and appeared surprised to see Steve. “Hey, Steve. I didn't know you and Bucky were friends.”

“Steve's my boyfriend, actually,” Bucky piped in.

“That's great!” exclaimed Clint. “That's a huge step for you, Bucky. Steve here is a great guy. He'll do right by you. Just don't let him around any protests, and you'll avoid getting yourselves arrested. Speaking of. We still on for next month's Save the Whales campaign?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Steve responded.

“All right then. Lets get you back to the clinic, so we can get started with your scans. Who would you like to accompany you this time? The rest can stay in the waiting room like usual.”

Steve fully expected Bucky to select George. George was familiar with the routine and was the person Bucky looked to first for comfort when a situation became stressful, so it came as a complete shock when his boyfriend asked him to come back. George clearly wanted to protest, but Becca's hand on her father's arm stilled any acerbic comments.

So he followed Bucky and Clint back to an exam suite where he was introduced to Dr. Namor McKenzie, Bucky's physical therapist, and Dr. Erskine, Bucky's spine specialist. After pleasantries, the team had Bucky change into a hospital gown before moving him into an adjacent room to run MRIs.

Steve, meanwhile, waited inside the booth with the doctors, watching slices of Bucky's brain appear on computer screens. It was all gibberish to him, but he resisted the urge to zone. This was important. Bucky needed him to be present.

The MRIs, though, were only the start of their day. After, they moved on to targeted neuroimaging that produced colored scans of Bucky's brain activity. Technicians in the room talked his boyfriend through performing specific exercises. Each exercise caused the corresponding area of the brain to light up with electrical impulses.

Dr. Erskine and Dr. McKenzie took over, putting Bucky through rigorous physical exercises. His boyfriend struggled with pressing his feet against Dr. McKenzie's hand with enough power to move said palm. His teeth were gritted. His jaw was locked with tension.

And Steve? Steve ached as he watched stress accumulate on his boyfriend's expression, the slow crack of an iceberg breaking away from a glacier. And the only thing he could do was lace his fingers with Bucky's in an effort to somehow comfort the other man.

Finally, hours after their arrival, the doctors showed them to a private room where he helped Bucky redress. He didn't bother waiting for Bucky to ask for help. Rather, he crouched in front of his boyfriend's wheelchair and lifted legs into pants. Closed an arm around Bucky's hips and lifted him enough for Bucky to wrestle pants around hips. Crouched again to put on the man's shoes and socks.

Bucky let him. Without a word of complaint.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“'M Real tired, Stevie.”

Steve dragged a chair closer in order to sit beside Bucky and lace their fingers together, secretly delighted when his boyfriend immediately leaned his head against Steve's shoulder.

“Anything I can do?”

“Just don't move your shoulder.”

Chuckling, he pressed his lips into Bucky's hair.

Moments later, the doctors entered.

Dr. Barton was first to speak after bringing up the brain scans for everyone to see. “If you'll look here.” He used a pen light to highlight a section of Bucky's brain. “This is your hippocampus. It's part of the Limbic system and is responsible for turning short term memories into long term memories. 

“If you'll notice, this area of your brain is darker than the surrounding regions. That tells me it's not performing at the expected capacity. These are your scans from just after the accident.” 

Clint pulled up another scan and showed them side by side. They were nearly identical. “My initial observations haven't changed. Your recovery seems to have plateaued. That doesn't mean you'll never improve, but it does mean we should maybe start looking at alternative therapies.”

Bucky cringed and tightened his hold on Steve's arm.

So Steve stepped in to ask, “Such as?”

“Dr. Norman Osborn at Johns Hopkins is heading up a research trial for an experimental drug specifically designed to increase neuroplasticity. That's the brain's ability to create new neural pathways and synapses. The trial has seen steady results, but the side effects are substantial.”

“What kind of side effects?”

“There may be a link to the development of certain kinds of cancer following exposure to the drug. Dr. Osborn himself was a recipient following severe brain damage after a car accident. After taking the drug, he developed schizophrenia with a high level of hallucinations.”

Steve felt Bucky stiffen beside him. “Do you have case studies and other information we can look at?”

“Sure. I'll email them to Bucky. Just remind him to access his account.”

Dr. Erskine took over to say, “Dr. McKenzie and I have seen marked improvement in your mobility since you last exam. That's the good news.”

Dr. McKenzie said, “My insistence that we move your sessions to the beach is paying off. We will continue them at the current rate to keep you limber and prevent muscles from atrophying.”

“At this point,” Erskine went on to say, “your spinal injury is stable. We really can't say how much more improvement you'll see. The spine doesn't heal itself the way other cellular tissue does.”

“Do you think I'll ever walk normally again?”

“This far removed from your initial injury, the odds are slim you'll ever regain full motor control. You've come a long way, Mr. Barnes. Let's celebrate your successes.”

Bucky's shoulders slumped. “So it's unlikely I'll get much better.”

“Correct,” agreed McKenzie.

Steve kinda wanted to punch the guy in the face. Namor had the bedside manner of an angry porcupine and looked as though he might strain himself if he bothered looking down from his lofty perch on regular folk like Steve and Bucky.

Clint finished up by asking about Bucky's headaches and reading comprehension, and wow, Steve had not known Bucky had trouble reading because of his injury. It was apparently a source of frustration for Bucky, who remarked about feeling like a five year old when he couldn't tell his dees from his bees. 

In the end, Clint increased one of Bucky's medications in an effort to help with the headaches, and Steve volunteered to tutor his boyfriend when it came to reading comprehension. His boyfriend seemed relieved to escape going to a professional tutor, and his corresponding smile was worth every second spent in the hospital that day.

Bucky was exhausted after the appointment, so they went straight back to the Barnes residence where George made them all Italian subs for lunch.

Later, Steve and Bucky relaxed on the sofa, their elbows touching, and played a competitive game of Need For Speed. More mock-insults were hurled than actual wins between them.

And that was when Steve got a front row seat to the tension radiating through the Barnes household. Becca hurried into the kitchen with keys dangling from her fingers and seemed intent on breezing right past them and out the door without a word spoken. 

George's voice brought her to an abrupt stop.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Out.”

“There's a storm coming in.”

“And?”

“You know I don't like when my kids drive in this kind of weather.”

“I'm twenty-eight, Dad.”

“But you still live under my roof. My roof, my rules.”

Becca's form went rigid. “Dad...”

“Champ just had a really hard day. I think it would be nice if we all spent the evening together while he recuperates. Whatever you need to do can surely wait until tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Sure. Fine.” Sergeant Barnes tossed her keys down on the kitchen counter before storming outside. The front door slammed behind her, and she paced across the front lawn.

Steve noticed something else. Bucky had stopped paying attention to the game, choosing instead to huddle against the back of the sofa, expression tight. Eventually, he lifted his heels onto the edge of the cushion and wrapped both arms around his legs, which was clearly a defensive position intent on protecting himself from the crackle of discontent infusing the air.

Calling them out on their behavior of putting Buck in the middle of their arguments really wasn't his place, so he focused instead on leaning up against his boyfriend's shoulder to offer him what comfort he could. It wasn't much. But his boyfriend sagged gently against him. Even went as far as to rest his head against Steve's shoulder.


	8. Luis Tells Tall Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky stays over at Steve's, and Steve's friends meet Bucky's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief allusion to the rape of an underage inmate. Nothing in explicit detail.

The situation got worse in the Barnes household, so much so that Bucky dreaded going home each day and took to spending more time with Alani, Steve, and his other friends. Spending time with them wasn't a hardship, but tonight was his first overnight visit at Steve's apartment, and he was a little nervous. He'd never spent the night away from home except that evening at the beach, and they all knew how that had turned out. He had come prepared, this time, with DVD and journal.

Getting to that evening, though, required getting through the work day. Considering his headache was one of the worst on records and the fact that Nick and Cameron were at each other's throats when he drove his newly-repaired motor chair into the art room. They were throwing shade like it was cow shit, and the guard stationed outside was doing absolutely nothing to diffuse the situation.

Bucky slapped a clipboard against his desk, causing both youths to startle. “We do not use that kind of language here. If you can't cooperate, I hear the kitchen staff needs a few more hands.” Anybody who had a pulse knew better than to give up a coveted spot in the art program for kitchen duty.

“He started it, Mr. Bee,” Cameron snapped.

“Bullsh—snot. Bullsnot,” Nick corrected himself.

“Frankly, I don't care who started it. I'm ending it.” He paused and looked at the others, noticing a particular absence. “Where's Hakim?”

Deshawn answered, “Hospital.”

“What happened?”

“Fucking gump finally got what was coming to him,” Nick said.

“Out,” Bucky said while pointing toward the door.

“Come on, Mr. Bee. Don't be like that.”

“What have I said repeatedly about you using hate speech? Hakim's sexuality is not a topic for your ridicule. If you can't behave in this classroom, I won't have you harassing the others.”

“Sorry,” Nick said, his head lowered.

“This is your last warning. One more crack, and you're outta here.”

Josiah finally spoke up from the back of the class, his voice soft. “Hakim was attacked by the USO Family in the showers the other day. Poor shit didn't stand a chance. Guards rushed him outta here.”

Bucky thought he was gonna be sick and needed to take a minute to breathe. Settling his stomach didn't come easily, as he could guess what kind of violence had been perpetrated against Hakim. It wasn't uncommon in a correctional environment, especially not for a kid who was shy and didn't know how to find protection with a stronger ally.

Finally managing his emotions, he settled behind his desk. “I'd like us to take a half hour before we get started with the day's lesson to make a get well card for Hakim. I'll take it to the hospital tonight.”

The instruction produced two groans, one from Nick and the other from Taleek, but a hard glare settled both teens down, and they quickly got with the program. After, Bucky moved on to the day's lesson, which involved the use color to display emotion. 

He expected Deshawn to breeze right through the exercise and was surprised to find the student struggling when he drove around the room checking on everyone's progress. The kid covered his canvas with an abstract design in new school colors, but there was little subtlety, little effort to actually showcase any range of emotions. So Bucky touched the kid's elbow.

“I'm thinking maybe this isn't how you really feel today.”

Deshawn shrugged.

“What's going on?”

“Ma wouldn't take my calls this week.”

Bucky waited quietly to see if the kid would expound and was soon rewarded.

“She still ain't forgiven me for this.” He made a general gesture to indicate the prison.

“You think maybe she's just disappointed?”

“Nobody wants their kid in the clink. Ma says I ain't worth nothing no more. Says I'm just like my daddy.”

A jolt of white hot rage shot through him. That any mother could say that to her son was wrong. “That mistake's on her, Dee. Your father leaving the way he did is not your fault. It's no reflection on you.”

“Yeah, well. Tell that to Ma.”

“Thing is that your ma might never be able to give you what you need if she doesn't have the empathy to give. You have to find a way to be okay with yourself without her approval. You've got a lot to offer, Dee. Don't let her sell you short.”

Deshawn shook his head and rolled his eyes, but at the end, he managed a little smile. “You're crazy, Mr. Bee. You're straight up crazy.”

“That's abelist language.”

“Sorry.”

“Let's try this assignment over, yeah? Less the you you're expected to be and more the actual you.”

Bucky spent the rest of the class with his students, and after they had been dismissed for the day, he loitered around the office trying to find resources that might improve Deshawn's relationship with his mother. He was able to get her information, as she was listed as Dee's emergency contact, and once he had a packet of information put together, he emailed it to her along with a brief note suggesting that his behavior was improving, that she should be proud of the strides he was making, and that the following resources might help the family dynamics.

After, he loaded into his van, the card made by his class tucked in his messenger bag, and drove to the hospital. Hakim was resting inside a regular room, a prison guard stationed outside. He tried to understand. Hakim was a violent offender with gang affiliations. It still gutted him to see a seventeen year old being treated like a hardened criminal.

He waited around until a nurse came in to check the kid's vitals, which roused Hakim from rest. He perked up upon seeing Bucky.

“Mr. Bee. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I heard what happened and wanted to see how you are.”

“Rolling with the flow. You know how it is. They're making a big fuss outta nothing.” He indicated the nurse, who looked at him with disbelief.

No one was going to give him any details about the teen's condition; he wasn't family or a guardian, but Hakim looked pale. Moving made him wince, and any time he tried to roll onto his back, he hissed with discomfort. Someone had removed the kid's usual make up. He could still remember how hard Hakim had sobbed upon being transferred and forced to cut his hair by grooming regulations.

“I brought you something from the rest of the class.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky pulled the card from his messenger bag and rested it near the kid's hip. They rest of the students had drawn silly cartoons across the front cover surrounding a “get well soon” message. Each kid had then signed the inside with a brief message. Except Nick and Taleek, who had only signed their names while mutinously saying “if I ain't got nothing nice to say, I ain't saying shit.”

“This is great, Teach. I didn't think... You know how it is. Nick and Taleek don't much like me.”

“Their loss. How are you holding up?”

The kid shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Are they making sure you get the help you need?”

Hakim's gaze was completely sarcastic. And skeptical.

“Don't look at me like that. No one's here that you need to impress or look macho in front of. You shouldn't be ashamed of expressing your needs.”

“Mr. Bee, you're an awesome guy, but nobody gives a shit about the gay kid who's gonna spend the rest of his life in prison. And no offense, but you don't know jack about the world I come from. You wouldn't last five minutes in my part of town.”

“Maybe you're right. Maybe I am naive, but you know where you're wrong? Someone does care about what happens to you; I care.”

“You aren't somebody. You're a sparkly unicorn or something.”

It made Bucky smile.

They talked until Hakim's nurses entered to change his bandages and install a new catheter bag, at which point, Bucky took his leave with promises to return the next afternoon. He stopped in the parking lot to jot it down in his work journal just in case he had a bad night and forgot. Breaking a promise to one of his kids would gut him.

***

Bucky's boyfriend lived in a three bedroom house near Wawamalu Beach. It had a big back yard with a free-standing garage and appeared to have been built during the sixties. There was something charming, even cute, about the property. The best part, though, was that it was single story, and someone had thought to construct a ramp from the ground onto the wrap-around deck.

Steve jumped down from the porch and hurried to meet him just as Bucky was driving down from his van. Being met with a kiss made his insides giggle, enough so that he didn't mention it when Steve reached into the van to grab his two overnight bags. One contained clothes. The other held various necessities to take care of his ostomy bag.

“Did you find the place all right?” asked Steve.

“My TomTom is handy.” He shaded his eyes against the sun.

“You all right?”

“It's a headache day. Also, one of my kids is in the hospital.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“Physically, yeah. He's in stable condition. Emotionally is a different story.”

“Well, let's get you in out of the sun. Do you want to nap for a while?”

“I kinda just want you to hold me while we watch something silly.”

“I can do that.”

Bucky drove up the ramp onto the porch and headed inside once Steve opened the door for him. Everything was clean and tidy, but you could tell three people with busy lives stayed there just by the eclectic mixture of furniture. Sharon had herbs growing in pots along every windowsill. Sam had contributed a Fathead decal of his favorite football player. Steve had to run around moving furniture out of the way to make a path for Bucky's chair.

They got settled in Steve's room, which was the master suite and had an attached bath, and Bucky transferred himself from his chair onto the bed using mostly his arm strength. The headache sapped his energy along with any desire to attempt standing up.

Steve turned out the lights, got his laptop set up to play a couple of documentaries on marine wildlife, and climbed into bed beside Bucky. It was nice, feeling the other man's strong arms tighten around him, relying on someone else's strength for a while. So Bucky turned his head to press a kiss into the firm muscle of Steve's pectoral, and they lay quietly together.

Three documentaries passed before the front door opened to fill the common room with Sharon and Luis' boisterous bickering. It was different from the bickering he heard at home. Those two clearly cared about one another whereas he sometimes wondered if Dad and Becca even liked each other anymore. He knew he was a major point of stress between the two and needed to make a decision soon about removing himself from the environment so they could learn to love each other again.

Steve disentangled himself and rolled out of bed to pad into the common room.

Bucky heard him asking the newcomers to keep it down, but his head wasn't pounding with nearly as much force as previously, allowing him to sit up and take stock of the situation. He fumbled with the laptop controls to stop the documentary. It was a total accident when he minimized the screen to find Steve's emails opened with one in particular enlarged.

He didn't mean to read it. Really, he didn't. He respected his boyfriend's privacy, but the subject line “RE: Monument Dedication” caught his attention enough that he skimmed the contents. Steve had been invited to the dedication to a monument celebrating the United States victory over the New York Invasion. From the tone of the email, Steve had refused to attend.

“Find something interesting?” Steve asked from the doorway, jaw tense.

“I didn't mean to!” Bucky struggled back from the laptop. “It was there when I shut down Netflix. Balls.” He raked fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry. I should have looked away. I meant to... Do you want me to go?”

“No, I don't want you to go, but this is private, and I don't appreciate having my business looked through. You shouldn't have read it. Especially not after understanding what you were reading.”

He felt bad enough that he ducked his head and picked at a loose string on his t-shirt. “Forgive me?”

His boyfriend gave a heavy sigh before coming closer to press a kiss into Bucky's hair. “Yes.”

Pushing his luck was a stupid plan, but he did it anyway. “Can I ask why you won't go?”

“No.”

“Steve--”

“Have I ever asked you about your injuries? Have I ever pried when you weren't willing to share?”

“No.”

“Then please allow me the same courtesy.”

“You can trust me, you know.”

“It's not about trust.”

Bucky had never been afraid of Steve before despite the man's size, but he suddenly felt a zing of trepidation, some natural instinct that told him to tread cautiously in the face of Steve's body language. The man was tight, fingers curled into fists, and heat creeping up from the man's collar into his face. Before him was a man on the verge of losing his tightly-cultivated control, and Bucky back-pedaled from the conversation slicker than greased owl shit.

“Sorry. I'll shut up.”

Steve sighed. The mattress dipped as his weight settled on the edge. “There are things about my military service I don't want to discuss. Maybe I'll tell you some day. Maybe I won't. There's nothing anyone can do to help, so I choose not to burden anyone else with the experiences.”

“You don't owe me an explanation. I only thought it might be something worth standing up for.” He indicated the screen displaying the email.

“It's the government putting a band-aid on a situation that should never have happened.”

“If you--” He swallowed heavily. “If you ever wanted to talk about it, you can count on me to listen.”

“Likewise.”

He moved away from the conversation in the hopes the tension in the atmosphere would abate, so instead of pressing his boyfriend, he snuggled closer and said, “I want to go to karaoke tonight. Alani and some of my friends are going. Can we?”

His boyfriend started to respond only to pull back with an incredulous look. “You can't get in a bar; you're only twenty.”

To which Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve. Dollface. Sweet pea. There's this thing called a fake ID.”

Turned out that Sharon, Luis, and Sam also thought it was a spectacular idea, so Steve's friends and Bucky's friends finally got the chance to intermingle at a hole in the wall operation called the Far Out. Alani greeted them with enthusiasm, taking over introductions between the two groups. They shoved three tables together near the karaoke stage, and Silk—her real name was Cindy Moon, but she hadn't gone by that since childhood—bought several pitchers of beer to get them started.

He settled back in his chair to watch the two groups circle each other. With ten years between them, it was pretty hilarious watching Steve's friends struggle with the rapid fire slang the younger group fired off. The only one to keep up was Luis, and that was only because he was so damn hip he shoulda been born thirty years in the future.

Naturally, Luis became a prime focus of attention when he was called up on stage. Death by Karaoke meant they each selected songs for another person to sing, so none of them knew their fate ahead of time, and Luis, Luis had been stuck with Alani selecting his song. 

Bucky hummed a funeral dirge while the guy grabbed a microphone. The opening chords to Baby Got Back played. He needn't have worried, though. Luis was Luis, a natural showman who had the crowd eating out of his hand.

Afterward, the guy flounced back to their table to flop into his seat and take a big swig of beer. “I ever tell you about the time my cousin's best friend's sister's boyfriend got locked inside the Haunted Mansion at the Magic Kingdom?”

Sharon shook her head. “I don't believe you. They have security cameras up the twat in that place.”

“I wanna hear,” Alani exclaimed. “That ride scared the crap outta me when I was a kid. I had this cute little fanny pack--”

Sharon burst into giggles.

“What?” asked Alani.

“'Fanny' means 'vagina' in Britain.”

Alani burst into giggles then alongside Sharon before continuing, “I had this cute little fanny--”

Sharon giggled again.

“Control yourself, Share-Bear!” Alani exclaimed. “Anyhow, I had this cute little belt pouch, and in the middle of the ride, the clip came undone. I swore our ride cart was haunted.”

Luis took over to continue his story, and in moments, the whole group was hanging on his every word. That guy had a way of telling stories that made him the sole focus of attention.

Eventually, Bucky was called up to the stage, and he had no idea what Steve had selected for him until he'd taken the microphone. The DJ was good enough to turn the monitor showing the words so he wouldn't need to struggle up the step-up onto the stage.

“Steve, you asshole! Do I look like Celine Dion?” he said into the microphone over the opening strains of 'My Heart Will Go On.'

Steve, the wretch, just shrugged with a cocky grin.

He thanked his lucky stars the DJ wasn't a sadist, as the other man lowered the song by an octave, allowing him to hit most of the notes. What saved him, though, was his ability to ham it up. He made doe eyes at a group of ladies while singing “Near, far, wherever you are.” He took a young woman's hand at a different table and kissed her knuckles during “Love can touch us one time, and last for a lifetime. And never let go 'til we're gone.”

Okay, so he completely failed to hit the high notes. Maybe he sounded like a screeching weasel, but by the end of it, the whole bar burst into applause, and he was quite certain to turn a smug smile in his boyfriend's direction, who was starting to look a little frightened of upcoming retribution.

“How long have you been dating?” asked Miles.

“I have no idea!” responded Bucky with a grin.

Steve said, “Two months, a week, and three days.”

Bucky looked at him in wonder.

Miles laughed until his sides ached. “Man, you got it bad. Don't get me wrong. You got reason. Bucky here's a C-A-T-C-H, but you are whipped, dude.”

Sam jumped into the conversation to say, “Come on, Man. Let him bask in his obliviousness. Big guy hasn't caught onto the fact that he's twitterpated.” Said while clapping Steve on the back.

Steve looked a little pink. “No, I'm well aware of that fact, but look what I'm blessed with.” He rubbed a hand over Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky just about melted and turned with a big grin to steal a quick kiss.

A commotion at the bar pulled his attention away where two scruffy guys squared off. You never could tell what would set off a belligerent drunk, and the two looked like bulls getting ready butt heads. Meanwhile, the bartender, a willowy woman, attempted to get in between the two.

She shouted, “Take it outside.” But her voice was completely ineffectual at stopping the first punch. Said punch clipped her in the jaw, and she went down like a sack of bricks.

Steve was immediately on his feet. He grabbed the bigger of the two and hauled the combatants apart, and that would have been fine. That would have been Steve taking charge to stop a situation spiraling toward disaster. Only that wasn't where things ended.

It was like some switch had been flipped. One second, Steve Rogers rested behind those incredibly blue eyes. The next, there was a terrifying emptiness. He shoved the drunk up against a wall and pounded him in the face, and when the second brawler got wind that his glory was being stolen, he attempted to jump onto Steve's back. Sam intercepted him to force him backward while Sharon and Luis rushed to the bartender, who was just coming around from having been knocked unconscious.

Only seconds were necessary for the situation to turn from helping a bartender in trouble to Steve losing his shit. His opponent sank to the floor, face bloody, but instead of stopping, Steve followed him down, raised his fist, and punched the guy again despite the blood coating Steve's knuckles.

And Bucky? Bucky didn't know what in the heck to do. Seeing his boyfriend like that was terrifying, so he needed to shore up his courage before shouting, “Steve. Steve, stop!”

It was like Steve was in a completely different world. The guy didn't even register Bucky's voice.

So Bucky drove his wheelchair over and managed to catch his boyfriend's wrist when it lifted for another strike. For a heartbeat, he was terrified that fury would be turned on him. His boyfriend went deathly still, and those empty, lifeless eyes turned in Bucky's direction. And he was afraid. He was suddenly terrified of the soldier crouched in front of him.

Things became a blur after that. The cops arrived. An ambulance came to cart Steve's opponent away on a gurney. Everyone made statements to the police about how the situation unfolded, and Steve didn't even attempt to talk himself out of being arrested, just stood patiently waiting for the consequences of losing his shit and causing that much damage.

The only reason he wasn't arrested was because the cop was a personal friend of the bartender, who stood up for Steve. That, and there were whispers of Captain America floating around, and Bucky figured it was about time he looked up his boyfriend's military service to find out just what being Captain America had entailed.

Whatever the case, their trip back to Steve's house was much more subdued than their trip to the bar. Bucky sat Steve on the edge of the bed and opened up a first aid kit to dab an antiseptic on the man's knuckles, split from the teeth of his opponent. They were silent. Steve wouldn't even look him in the eyes, the man subdued in a way he'd never seen Steve before.

He waited to broach conversation until he'd finished cleaning his boyfriend's knuckles and had packed away the contents of the first aid kit. Only then did he say, “Talk to me.”

“Don't know that there's anything to say.”

“Steve,” he began, hands smoothing up the man's forearms, “Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not.”

“Don't do that. Don't shut me out.”

Steve took in a shuddering breath. “The Invasion of New York. I-- Airman Stark was a good man. Arrogant as Hell and so very brilliant. He helped design the F-40 Avengers we flew. He trusted me, and I let him down. I let him down because some snot-nosed general gave an order, and if I didn't make the call, it would have fallen to someone else.”

He couldn't understand how difficult talking about it was for Steve but recognized that it was a piece of himself he hadn't shared with anyone else. Bucky cupped the nape of Steve's neck and pulled the man's head forward to rest against Bucky's chest, fingers stroking random circles on the man's nape.

“We were friends. We shouldn't have worked as friends, you know. He was-- Nothing was sacred to him. He'd get wasted and walk around with his dick hanging out yowling about his cock raging on like in that gladiator show. And I am-- Well, I'm not like that. We shouldn't have worked as friends, but he understood what it was like.

“I was young, probably too young to take over a leadership position of a Space Squad. He graduated high school at fifteen and went on to MIT, a sixteen year old surrounded by adults. So he got what it was like to be so much younger than your peers. He didn't treat me like a kid.” A soft huff escaped the man. “He gave me my first glass of whiskey. He trusted me, and I failed him.”

Bucky didn't bother with platitudes; he just said, “Did you respect him?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop blaming yourself and give him the respect of making his own decisions. He darn well must have thought you were worth it.”

Steve broke down after that, hulking shoulders shaking with soundless tears. He wept. He wept so hard Bucky thought he might be sick, but Bucky didn't attempt to stop him or console him, just held him through the storm. It seemed like a storm that had been a long time coming.

As quickly as the tears came, they left, and his boyfriend took in a shuddering lungful of air, easing away to stretch out, at which point, he beckoned Bucky.

“Gimme me a few minutes. I need to--” He waved a hand toward his body and felt a keen prick of self-consciousness upon realizing he couldn't just lay down with his boyfriend whenever he liked.

Steve didn't seem terribly disappointed, just nodded.

Bucky grabbed one of his bags and headed into the bathroom to change his bag and remove his catheter. Bar bathrooms weren't necessarily equipped to handle a guy in a wheelchair. His boyfriend's bathroom didn't have safety railings or a chair, so he couldn't take a quick shower the way he wanted. All he could was wipe up at the sink to remove the smell of beer and too much cologne.

Only then did he emerge from the bathroom and wheel up to the opposite side of the bed, at which point, he stood and climbed into it beside Steve, settling himself on his side and throwing a leg over Steve's thighs. They snuggled together, his boyfriend being careful to not put any pressure against Bucky's stoma.


	9. Lance Hunter And the Blooming Cabbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go to the monument dedication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be a few days late with this. I haven't been well and didn't feel up to editing and posting before now.

The sun came up the following morning. The world hadn't come crashing down after telling someone about Tony. Birds chirped outside the window. Bars of sunlight stretched through the blinds and toward the bed. Bucky slept peacefully beside him.

Steve allowed himself a moment to admire the soft curves of his boyfriend's face relaxed in sleep, and it struck him all over again just how beautiful the man was. Referring to a man as beautiful probably wasn't socially acceptable, but he didn't care. Bucky was stunning, from the sharp angle of his jaw to the elegant arch of his eyebrows.

Not wanting to spoil their morning, he slipped out of bed, left Bucky's journal beside him, and flicked on the television to cue up the DVD before emerging from his bedroom.

He felt like shit and downed a full glass of water along with a couple of pain pills. That wouldn't ease his conscience, though. Last night's events still played behind his eyes. He'd utterly lost it, and for one brief second, there had been fear and uncertainty in Bucky's eyes. Bucky had been afraid of him.

Just thinking about it made him sick, so he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his pajama bottoms and called his VA appointed therapist to set up an appointment. Dr. Drumm was pleasantly surprised to hear from him and didn't make him feel bad for waiting so long to get in contact.

That done, he busied himself making eggs, bacon, and hash browns. The food was ready by the time Bucky emerged from the bedroom with a shy smile.

“Today's a good day. I remember yesterday.”

Steve grinned. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

He moved Sharon's things around on the dining table, and they ate quietly. Neither seemed to be the type of morning person given to inane chatter before their second cup of coffee, so they didn't talk much until he'd refilled their cups.

“Captain Carol Danvers—she's a colonel now, I think—is the one who would have been forced to give the order that killed Tony if I hadn't.”

Bucky didn't respond, just listened quietly.

“We used to be friends back before the Invasion. We haven't spoken since my retirement.” He took a couple of swigs of coffee before continuing, “General Ross made us do things contrary to our oaths taken. 'Protect the people' is one of the main creeds of the Space Ready Airmen. But he didn't--

“Thousands died needlessly because of General Ross' priorities. The idea of standing up in front of a bunch of politicians paying lip service to the lives lost that day is laughable, and if I go, I'm sanctioning everything they said. It's like I'm forgiving them. Giving them the ability to sleep at night.”

His boyfriend chose that moment to speak, “They're politicians, Steve. They sleep just fine whether or not you're there to bolster their empty words. If you go, you aren't going for them. You're going to stand up for your brothers and sisters who died in the invasion. You're going to pay your respects to them and to stand beside Colonel Danvers.”

Steve pushed fingers through his hair. “Fuck, how did you get so smart, Kid?”

The other man shrugged and smiled around the rim of his mug.

“I'll think about it.”

“If it helps, I could go with you.”

Eyes widened in surprise. “You'd do that?”

“Did you go with me to my assessment appointment?”

“That's different.”

“How?”

“I didn't have to get on a plane for starters.”

“Dollface, I'd catch a grenade for ya. Throw my hand on a blade for ya. I'd jump in front of a train for ya. You know I'd do anything for ya.” He merged into a sing-song voice that had Steve brightening.

Steve stretched his hand across the table and tangled their fingers together. “I'm falling in love with you, Bucky.”

Color rushed into the other man's cheeks. “Every day I wake up without my memories, you make me fall in love with you all over again.”

They retreated back to the bedroom in a rush of emotions. Steve found the lube and condoms while Bucky was in the bathroom taking care of his ostomy bag, and when the man returned, he settled himself in the bed, already naked, his cock half-erect between his thighs.

“Every time I look at you, you look more gorgeous than before.”

“Flatterer,” accused Bucky, but he didn't attempt to hide his bag this time.

Steve laid next to him on his side, palm cupping the man's cheek. “I want you inside me this time.”

“Yes. That. Let's do that. God, it's been so long since I've done that, since I've been with anyone but you. Since before the accident at least.”

A jolt of sympathy speared him, but he didn't attempt to convey what Rebecca had told him. It wouldn't do anything but cause pain. Instead, he kissed Bucky and drowned the thoughts in the soft lure of tongue and mouth, fingertips splayed across the other man's jaw.

Want curled in his groin as he sucked the other man's tongue. An empty place bereft of Bucky's touch opened inside him, and he quickly dragged his mouth away to kiss the other man's chest, to curl a tongue around Bucky's nipple. His teeth closed around it and lifted, pulling the flesh into a tight bud that snapped back once the nipple had been released. He suckled it to soothe any unintended sting and delighted in the uneven breaths he caused in his boyfriend.

He moved down the length of his boyfriend's body, stopping to dip his tongue into the man's navel and steering clear of Bucky's stoma given how sensitive his boyfriend was about it. Instead, he closed his teeth over the other man's pelvic bone, rasping against it and feeling the man's rigid cock twitching against Steve's throat, the scalding skin like silk against his own.

Then, the length of his tongue swept up the shaft from base to tip where he played back and forth against the sensitive frenulum in a way that had Bucky writhing as much as he was able. Said writhing was accompanied by a quiet “oh fuck” when Steve closed his lips around the cockhead.

He fluttered his tongue there, quickly dipping the point into the other man's slit to taste the bitter-hot fluid beading there. Bucky strained upward and released a sharp sound, so Steve did it again. He rolled his tongue around the glans before descending, before engulfing the rigid shaft and allowing it to slide along the flat of his tongue until the thick head bumped the back of his throat.

Bucky keened Steve's name while thrashing his head back and forth against the pillow.

It encouraged Steve to bob his head, the other man's cries intermingling with the wet slide of flesh against flesh, and it didn't matter that saliva beaded on Steve's chin. It didn't matter that his roommates might overhear. It only mattered that he was making Bucky feel so, so good.

Fingertips dug into Steve's skull to urge his head away, and his boyfriend gasped, “Stop.”

He did immediately, pulling off and backing away, hands in the air.

“No, don't go that far. It's just... Keep doing that, and I'm gonna come. I wanna come inside you.”

Steve felt wolfish, like a predator to Bucky's prey and reached to the nightstand for the lube. After coating his fingers, he reached behind himself to drag blunt fingertips across his puckered flesh. It had been a while since he'd bottomed, so he wanted to be thorough prepping himself, make it good for both of them, and he wasn't shy when his body arched, when the tip of his finger slid past the muscle.

He knew he looked good. He knew his body was desirable and wanted to show it off for his boyfriend. Abs clenched as he worked up to the second knuckle. He rolled his hips, ghosting the hard length of his cock against the man's stomach, and Bucky whined.

“Look at you. How'd I ever get so lucky?”

Steve's head fell back in abandon. A second finger teased his hole, and he slipped it in alongside the first. He clasped Bucky's good hand and pulled it down, used it to cover the length of Steve's cock so he was thrusting in between the pocket of his boyfriend's stomach and hand. Fluid leaked out, easing the way, and fuck, he couldn't remember ever feeling so good in his life.

“I can't--” he gasped. “I need to-- Fucking Hell. What are you doing to me?”

“Fucking you?” That impish grin was back.

Steve scrambled down far enough before tearing open a condom packet with his teeth. He rolled the rubber over the man's straining flesh, lubed him up, and positioned himself over Bucky's erection. Then, reaching behind him to hold it in place, he eased the blunt head against his throbbing hole.

The first push was amazing. The slide down, intense. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone inside him. He'd forgotten the power, the pressure, the fucking ache of being spread around a man's cock, and it took him several breaths to keep from coming then and there.

To be fair, Bucky didn't seem to be in much better condition. His head was thrown back and jaw locked. Fingertips scrabbled for purchase against Steve's tight thighs. Every now and then, the man's cock would twitch or pulse.

Only when he thought he could move without shooting his load did he pull up and drop back down. His partner keened. Steve stretched his arms behind his head, clasping fingers there to show off the obscene curves of his body and damn near lost it when his partner licked his lips like a man starved.

“Like what you see?”

Bucky didn't speak, only bobbed his head, transfixed while ghosting his palms up Steve's thighs and onto his waist. He licked his lips again and finally croaked, “More.”

Grinning, Steve circled his hips before grasping his headboard to anchor himself, to balance against the undulations of his body as he rocked them together. The long slide up followed by the short drop down to impale himself. It was overwhelming. It was Heaven. It was Nirvana. Only their copulation had no place in something as remote as Heaven or Nirvana.

He tossed his head back, felt Bucky flex his hips enough to drive upward. There wasn't a lot of power there, but it was enough to press the head of his lover's cock into his prostate, enough to startle a shout from Steve. The long slide up. The short drop down. He took his boyfriend deep and hard, his own cock bouncing along with his gyrations.

His partner grasped hold of his hips and managed a sharp thrust before wailing his release. Bucky's cock pulsed inside him. The man arched. The column of his throat was too inviting to pass up.

Steve closed his teeth around a muscle there, grasped his own cock, and pumped hard, and climax was suddenly there, breaking open like a flower petal as semen splashed against their chests and chins. He sobbed his release. He didn't have enough strength or motivation to roll to the side, allowing his weight to sag against Bucky, body cocked away from the stoma site.

Their breaths thundered out of control as the room dipped into the afterglow.

Said afterglow was ruined by Sam banging against their shared bedroom walls. “Traumatized for life!”

Both lovers giggled.

***

Steve sat on a pier near Sea Life Park, legs dangling over the edge. Beside him rested the empty containers of his lunch, Sharon and Luis's Mexican soup and a sandwich. Tourists moved along the beach. Boats dotted the pristine waters, and every piece of him felt heavy with indecision.

Footsteps approached loudly enough he wasn't startled when Sam dropped onto the pier beside him. “Couple of things. Marvel's out of surgery. Nat thinks the procedure went well, and tell me what you think about this.”

He pulled his attention away from the ocean to look at the ring Sam held. It was a plain platinum band topped off with a single diamond, beautiful in its simplicity. “I think Nat's gonna love it.”

“Yeah? It's not too understated for her?”

“Nat digs understated.” He paused before asking, “Why didn't I go with you to pick out the ring?”

“'Cause you've had your head up Barnes' ass.” A note of accusation sharpened the words.

Steve was stunned into silence.

“Don't get me wrong. Barnes is a great guy. I totally understand what you see in him, but you've been pretty damned absorbed lately. Between keeping up with your work hours and courting your boy, you haven't really had time for the rest of us.”

“I don't--”

Sam waved away Steve's attempt at apology. “Luis went with me to help pick it out. That guy's got swag coming out of his ears. So what if my best buddy couldn't make it.”

The sharp sting of Sam's disappointment settled into Steve's chest. His excuse was feeble. “Bucky requires a lot of attention.”

“More like you're so busy making him fall in love with you every day that you hardly have time to sleep let alone have a social life. I was shocked when you all wanted to go to karaoke the other night.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. This isn't me asking for your attention. It's me telling you that you need to be aware of what you might drift away from. Bucky's a good kid. He makes you happy. You're the only one who can decide if it's worth the relationships you might lose being with him.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an ultimatum, Buddy.”

“If that's the way you wanna take it. Nat knows I'm asking her. We're having an engagement party down at the Manoa Grand on the seventeenth. I'd like you to be there.”

“I will. Sam, of course I will.”

The conversation drifted through various topics for the remainder of Steve's lunch hour. He didn't think about the engagement party until later that evening when another email from Colonel Danvers showed up in his inbox and he thought to plug the date of the party into his phone calendar. Only then did he notice that September seventeenth was also the date of the monument dedication in New York. Despite his many talents, he couldn't be in two places at once.

The colonel's email beckoned him.

_Dear Captain Rogers,_

_You haven't responded to any of my requests, so this will be the final email. I understand that Tony's death was very personal. We all felt it. We all mourn him, but Captain—Steve, your attendance would mean the world to the Airmen. They miss you so, so much and would like to stand beside their brother and former leader when we dedicate the monument to Tony's memory. Maybe you don't think you owe them that, but I think maybe you do._

_Tony died. You retired. They had no one else to turn to for guidance. They lost you both in one horrific incident. Please don't ask them to lose you again, to face this without you. It's not about the government's mistakes. It's not about General Ross. It's about the Howling Commandos and Shield. It's about the people we fought beside, the people we led. Our families._

_Please reconsider attending the dedication. I've booked an extra hotel room in case you change your mind. We'll be staying at the Marriott._

_Sincerely,_

_Cl. Carol Danvers_

A harsh sound scraped out of his throat. He snatched up his laptop to book two plane tickets to DC. Then, he called Bucky to ask if he would go. Bucky, being the incredible person he was, immediately agreed and told Steve how proud he was of his courage. The only thing left to do was to break it to Sam that he wouldn't be able to make the engagement party.

Sam was not amused. In fact, he was pretty sure Sam hated his guts despite the stoic expression on the other man's face. That was what tipped him off. Sam Wilson was one of those guys who wore his heart on his sleeve until he'd been hurt. Then he turned into a stone.

“You know I wouldn't do this if it weren't important, right?”

“Of course.”

“Sam...”

“No, I understand. That dedication ceremony is important. I'm proud of you for deciding to go. Do you have someone who can go with you? Sharon maybe? Or Luis.”

“Bucky's going.”

The other man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Good. That's good.”

“You're my best friend. If it weren't for--”

“Stop apologizing, Man. Go and stand up beside your brothers and sisters. Stand up for Tony. You'll be at the wedding. That's what's most important.”

He stepped forward to hug the other man, but Sam remained tense and unwelcoming. Clearly, he was hurt. Of course it hurt knowing your best friend wouldn't be there to stand up for you during such an important occasion. He couldn't blame the guy. But his rejection felt leaden.

***

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather I come with you?” asked Becca as she crouched in front of Bucky's chair going through his carry on to make sure he had everything he needed.

“Becca, come on. I'm not a child.”

Steve watched the siblings banter back and forth before turning his attention to George, who extended a hand. Steve shook said hand. “Don't worry. We have the journal and the DVD.” He'd had George and Rebecca record special messages before hand in the event Bucky experienced a bad day.

“If anything happens, you have him call us,” George instructed. “Doesn't matter what time of the day or night. Make sure he takes his medications on time, too. His behavior deteriorates if he doesn't get his doses on time. Also, if his bag breaks a seal in public, he's going to feel pretty humiliated. Try to keep him calm if that happens. Let's see. What else?”

“We've got this, Mr. Barnes,” Steve said with a sympathetic smile. “Becca gave me a list. I have everyone's contact information. His doctors are on speed dial, and I've already checked out a reputable hospital in the area in case something goes wrong.”

“Good man.” George clasped Steve's shoulder. “I tried to do what you asked, to ask him about where you went the day you got him home late. He didn't remember. Where did you go?”

“That's not my story to tell.”

“Steve...”

“No, I shouldn't have told you what I did. Bucky's confidence means the world to me.”

“And as a worried father, knowing what's happening with him is paramount to my concerns.”

“Sorry, Mr. Barnes.”

George waved away the title. “You're taking my son on a trip. I think you can call me George now.”

“George.”

The time for their pre-boarding arrived, so Steve busied himself collecting their carry on luggage. They'd already checked three bags, most containing the removable pieces of Bucky's motorized chair after the airline had helped him transfer into a smaller chair. While he was doing that, Bucky said goodbye to his family.

Then it was off to security. Getting through security was a pain. Bucky was subjected to enough poking and prodding that he was starting to regret having invited his boyfriend, but getting his various medications through was easy enough. It took them more than a half hour to finally arrive at their gate where attendants helped them to board ahead of the other passengers.

Thankfully, Bucky was able to physically move himself into the specially designed aisle seat where Steve helped him strap in. Something akin to relief flooded him that his boyfriend had chosen to cath that day instead of dealing with the airplane lavatory.

After stowing their luggage, he took his own seat beside his boyfriend and strapped in to wait while the other passengers boarded. They passed the time talking quietly about the last time Bucky had been on an airplane before the accident. He'd gone on a two week vacation with George and Becca to Rome.

Being in the air aggravated his boyfriend's TBI. The change in altitude and cabin pressure brought on a splitting headache, and his attempts to read ended in nothing but frustration. He became moody, waspish, and uncomfortable, and there was jack shit Steve could do to make the situation any better.

He asked a flight attendant for some juice and pulled through Bucky's medication bag to get him a sleeping pill in the hopes of letting him rest through the ten hour flight.

Getting off the plane once they landed at Ronald Reagan was as much of a hassle as getting on board. They waited until all the other passengers had disembarked before flight attendants brought another light weight chair for Bucky to transfer into. Steve gathered their carry on bags, and the attendant wheeled Bucky into the terminal where he was finally reunited with his motorized chair, a chair Steve quickly put back together while Bucky nursed his head.

Then they had to call and order a wheelchair assessable cab, wait until it arrived, collect their checked bags, and finally get settled for the short trip to the hotel. The inside look at how difficult it was for people with disabilities to travel was an eye-opening experience for Steve. Some tiny part of him thought it might be more hassle than it was worth, but the greater part was so incredibly relieved to have Bucky with him that he would have walked to the moon if necessary.

By the time they got to the hotel, both were exhausted and in need of a nap. It was a blessing they still had a couple of hours before meeting his unit at a restaurant for dinner. His boyfriend, still cranky from travel, had a hissy fit from his attempts to help get the man settled in bed, so eventually, he gave up, choosing instead to stretch himself across his side of the bed.

A nap did wonders, though, as Bucky was back to his usually chipper self while they fought over who got the shower first. Bucky won. Bucky would always win. Because Steve Rogers had zero ability to tell his boyfriend no and would wind up spoiling him rotten just because.

Considering how long it took Bucky to get ready to go out, they were ten minutes late to the restaurant, an offense that was quickly forgotten as the rest of the Howlies caught sight of his approach. It was the first time they'd all been together since his retirement.

Thor got to him first and closed massive arms around him hard enough he found himself lifted from his feet. “Captain Rogers, you've been gone too long. We began to think you'd set away your clogs!” The Norseman's pronunciation was good, but he still sometimes mixed up his native idioms.

He squeezed the man. “S'ppose I did drop off the face of the Earth for a while. It's good to see you. You haven't changed a bit.” After stepping away, he turned to the rest of the table. “Guys. Gals, this is my partner, Bucky.” He went around the table introducing everyone. “Jim Morita, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier, Tim Dugan, Gabe Jones, the Maximoff twins Wanda and Pietro, Bruce Banner, Asathjor Odinson, and James Rhodes. Don't try to pronounce Norse; everyone calls him Thor.”

Carol stood up from the other side of the table. “Carol Danvers, and this is my squad. Daisy Johnson, Melinda May, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, Al McKenzie, Antoine Triplett, Jose Gutierrez, Elena Rodriguez, Lincoln Campbell, Bobbi Morse, and Lance Hunter.”

“We shoulda worn name tags,” Rhodes said. “Poor kid isn't gonna remember all those names.”

Someone had already arranged for a place setting without a chair, so Bucky was able to drive right into position, and Steve folded himself into the chair beside his partner. Two waiters came around once they'd gotten settled. Bucky started to order himself a margarita. The request stuttered into something less alcoholic from Steve's pointed glare.

Things were awkward for the first half hour or so. No one knew what subjects were off limits, and catching up didn't take all that long. Jose and Mack had retired last year and had gotten married. Trip and his cousin, Gabe, had opened a business together, Bruce was still in anger management classes, everyone else was still part of the Space Ready Airmen and looking at long, fulfilling careers.

A pall clung to the gathering, deep clouds blanketing what should have been a jovial affair. No one said it, but everyone felt that one empty chair at the end of the table, the place that should have belonged to Tony Stark. It sat idle, missing the weight of its designated sitter, one lonely glass of scotch sitting next to an unused place setting.

He ached to leave and avoid the awkwardness, but Bucky's hand wandered beneath the table where it clenched around his thigh. It was Bucky's reassuring smile that greeted him when he glanced over. And it was Bucky who turned on his mega-watt charisma to smooth them past the rough patch.

“So you used to compete in strongman competitions?” he asked Tim.

Tim choked on a swig of beer. “Shit, Kiddo. That was a long ass time ago. Was you even born when I was a competitor?”

“Not a kid. But yeah. My sister's a huge fan of Strongman. She thought about getting into it on the female side, except there isn't the same level of fan interest for the women's competition.”

“I'll be hot dogged. Ain't never met a fan before. Put her there, Kiddo.”

Bucky reached cross the table to shake hands.

“But I ain't the only exhibitionist here.” Tim reached over to slap Dernier on the back. “This guy here's been on America's Got Talent. Ain't ya. Set hisself on fire on national tee-vee.”

A trace of lilting French remained in Jacques' accent. “I went by the stage name 'Fire and Brimstone.' There is much adrenaline in surrendering to the flames.”

“How did I not know this about you?” asked Steve.

“'Cause you was gone,” responded Tim. “Fell off the goddamn edge of the Earth after twenty-twelve.”

Steve's shoulders tightened, and he glanced back down at his plate.

Bucky stepped in again, leaning over the table to get a better look at Carol. “Colonial Danvers, is it true you had a hand in redesigning fighter cockpits to make them safer for female pilots?”

She seemed surprised by Bucky's knowledge and swallowed her sip of beer. “That's true. Old school ejection seats were designed for certain height requirements that disqualified most female pilots. Ejecting at the speed with which they exited the aircraft would have killed anyone who didn't pass height requirements. Plus, the cockpit was set up in such a way that a person's reach became a factor.

“I worked closely with aircraft engineers to change the cockpit and ejection seat dimensions to make them accessible to a greater ratio of body types. Before those changes, most of the women in my squad wouldn't have passed muster based on their height alone.”

“The first aircraft to roll off the assembly line with these redesigned cockpits was the F-39 Marvel?”

“That's right.” Carol glanced between Steve and his partner as though searching for something. “I'm sorry. I just didn't figure you would be so informed.”

“Steve was bragging about your accomplishments on the flight from Hawaii.”

“Was he?” She seemed thrown for a moment.

“Christ, Carol, did you think I hated you or something?” asked Steve.

“Something like that.”

“Why?”

Rather than verbally answering, she glanced toward the other end of the table and that empty chair.

“Carol, no. Fuck, what happened to Tony... I made the call. What happened to him is on me. It's on General Ross. It's on the fucking World Security Council.”

She swallowed heavily and couldn't meet his glance.

“Captain Danvers... Colonel, look at me.”

She glanced up.

“Tony is gone. Then I disappeared on you, leaving you to handle the fallout by yourself. All of you were there for each other except me. That's on me. That's my wrong-doing. None of you did anything wrong that day. You all performed exceptionally. Sometimes bad shit happens to good people, and there's nothing we can do to change it, but I won't let any of you shoulder misplaced guilt.”

“But you left, Cap,” Morita piped in. “We needed you, and you left.”

“I know, and I can't ever deserve your forgiveness for that.”

“Or, you know, you could just ask to be forgiven,” Jemma said.

Silence rippled around the table. Steve clenched and unclenched his fingers around the edge of his seat. Beneath the table, Bucky's grip on his thigh eased to allow his partner to stroke his leg in a comforting manner. To ask for forgiveness hadn't ever crossed his mind. Not because he didn't need it but because he knew he didn't deserve it.

“Will you forgive me? For letting you all down? For disappearing on you?”

“Ah Hell, Cap, we never blamed you for getting out,” Gabe began, “'cause you needed out. We only ever got pissed because you never kept in touch with any of us. Coulda been at the bottom of the ocean, and we wouldn't have known. Of course I forgive you.”

They went around the table, and one by one, Shield and the Howling Commandos gave Steve the peace of mind he didn't deserve. They offered him absolution.

Until they came to the end where Lance Hunter said, “Don't look at me. I say we make the bloke suffer some more. He turns a pretty shade of red when he knows he's behaving like a berk.”

The whole table rallied with a collective, “Shut the fuck up, Lance.”

“Fine. Guess I forgive you too, you bloomin' cabbage.”

Bucky grinned before asking, “Now, who has embarrassing stories about my boyfriend to share?”

“Oh God, no. It's late, Buck. We should probably get back to the hotel.”

“I don't have a curfew, Dad,” he responded.

“Well,” Bruce began, “there was that one time Cap punched a Hitler impersonator...”


	10. General Ross is a Shit-Pickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve attend the memorial unveiling for the Battle of New York where Bucky has a bad morning.

An alarm blasted Bucky from sleep the next morning. He shot up in the unfamiliar bed inside an unfamiliar room. It wasn't hard to distinguish that it was a hotel room. What was hard to recognize was the man strolling from the bathroom with a towel riding low around his hips. Okay. So the man was F-I-N-E. In all capital letters. His Adonis lines could make a person salivate. But. Stranger Danger. People got abducted by the god Apollo all the time. Or at least some of the time.

Before he could descend into a fit of panic, though, the guy held up his hands in a peaceful gesture and said, “Press play on your laptop. Then read your journal.”

Bucky did as asked. He watched through the information and came to a last clip wherein Bucky and this Steve person sat in the same oversized armchair with bright smiles on their faces. The Bucky on camera said, “We're leaving for Washington DC tomorrow. If you wake up in a panic, try to calm down. The big beefcake next to you is your boyfriend. You totally have him wrapped around your little finger. So try not to freak out and read your journal.”

And sure, some things could be faked, but his eyes on the screen weren't glassy. They weren't unfocused. He didn't look like he'd been drugged and forced to speak into the camera. He seemed relaxed, both legs thrown over Steve's lap and Steve pressing a smile onto Bucky's temple.

So he grabbed his journal and found information on the accident that had left him in a wheelchair and suffering anterograde amnesia. Discovering that he'd lived an entire life he couldn't remember was terrifying. It scared the crap out of him that he could wake up in the morning having been reset to square one. But the wonder of it was in having found a man who was patient enough to go through the process of making him remember all over again. Day in and day out.

He smiled up at Steve. If his smile was a little strained, it was because it was a lot to take in all at once. He glanced back down at the last page that read 'Steve reconnected with his squadron last night. You are so proud of him. It's no mystery why you fall in love with this man every day. Don't forget the dedication ceremony tomorrow morning. It's really important for Steve to be there. He needs you to help him shoulder the weight today. Try not to screw it up.'

“I'm going to go grab us some breakfast and give you some time to let everything sink in if that's okay. When I come back, I can help you shower if you feel comfortable enough to let me do that. The most important thing, though, is that I love you.”

Steve finished pulling a sweater over his head before leaning down to offer a kiss. His boyfriend didn't close the entire distance between them. He came ninety percent, letting Bucky decide whether or not he wanted to close the remaining gap.

He did, leaning up to press a quick kiss onto the man's lips. “Breakfast sounds good.”

Alone, he took the time to go through his journal again. Photos had been cut out and pasted into the margins of the journals. His favorite was a picture of Steve bent over a child's wading pool where a turtle wearing a life jacket rested. Bucky, meanwhile, was practically draped over Steve's back. The caption below read, _'Marvel's first day breathing on his own again.'_

The photo just after it depicted Bucky looking irritated and Steve looking sheepish. Its caption said, _'Steve's inability to pick restaurants drives you nuts. Why do you gotta make all the dining decisions?'_ Then, there was a photo of a blond, a Latino, and Steve's best friend, Sam.

Something hot popped through his chest. He shouldn't remember Sam's name. Below the photo and in red ink, he'd written, _'Steve's roommates. Sharon Carter. Luis Peña. Sam Wilson. Don't think Luis officially lives there, but he might as well.'_

Another little note awaited him along with a doodle that might have been Steve with steam pouring out his ears. It read, _'Steve has a pretty nasty temper. Sometimes it makes you worry about your relationship with him. I don't remember him being violent toward you. I don't remember him hitting you. But would I remember? Be careful of his temper. Write down any time he uses his size to intimidate you. You have to take care of yourself first.'_

He quickly shut the journal and scrubbed both hands over his face. Something told him to put his journal back in his carry on bag where it wouldn't be right in Steve's line of sight. At the end of his train of logic, he told himself that his dad and sister would never have allowed him to go all the way to Washington DC with someone who showed any inclination toward abusing him. He had to trust them.

When Steve keyed back into their room, he forced muddled thoughts away and greeted the man—he carried a couple of coffees and a bag of what turned out to be slices of coffee cake—with a smile. He scooted over to make some room for Steve on the bed beside him, and they shared breakfast quietly.

“Did my dad pack my portable shower chair?”

“Yes.” Steve retrieved it from one of their checked bags.

“I think I'll shower by myself if it's all the same to you.”

Briefly, the man's eyes became downcast. Whether he was disappointed or angry, Bucky couldn't say. He didn't know Steve's body language well enough to make that interpretation. He just knew that it wasn't his job to let Steve take care of him.

Showering in a hotel stall with a portable chair was a pain in the neck, so he probably didn't get himself as clean as he would have at home. He stood and stepped out of the tub to quickly dry himself off. He put on clean underwear. He broke the seal on his colostomy bag and tried to put on a new one. The seal wouldn't take properly and kept popping off, leaving him frustrated with his inability to remember the simplest of things. He must have changed his own bags hundreds of times since the accident.

“Steve, can you bring me my phone?”

The other man came to stand in the doorway and offered it to him.

“Thank you.”

“I could help with that. I have before.”

“No you haven't. Why would I let a stranger change my--”

Steve flinched.

“Fuck!” Bucky exclaimed when his hands shook too badly to wrap the toilet paper around his stoma and prevent the seepage from getting onto his skin. Trembling hands pressed against his face. Something like shame heated him. There he sat, slowly shitting on himself, helpless to do anything about it. All the while, a strange man stood in the doorway watching him.

“Buck...”

“Please, leave me alone. I know the tape and the journal say you're my boyfriend, but I don't freaking know you. For all intents and purposes, a stranger is watching me at my most vulnerable. So please. Give me a few minutes.”

“Whatever you need, Buck.” The man failed to mask the hurt in his voice.

Bucky just couldn't deal with that hurt at the moment.

When the emotional outburst cleared, he looked up how-to videos on Youtube, and an informative young woman walked him through putting on a new bag. His mistake had been to not eat marshmallow before changing it. The marshmallow gummed up his intestines enough to slow down any fecal seepage from the stoma.

Yesterday's Bucky had left himself a post-it-note on the bathroom mirror that read _'Don't forget to cath before going to the ceremony.'_ Figuring out how to do that was a whole different nightmare.

He'd just gotten the line taped to his leg and the urine bag in place when Steve knocked on the door without entering.

The man said, “I'm going to be late for the dedication ceremony if I don't leave soon. You seem to be having a really bad morning. Do you want to just stay here?”

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“I--” Steve must have rethought his statement. “I want whatever you're most comfortable with.”

“That's not an answer, Beefcake.”

“I want you to be there, but if you're not comfortable with it, I would understand.”

Bucky finally wrestled into his button down shirt and drove back outta the bathroom with every intention of telling his boyfriend that it was an awful day and the idea of sitting in front of a bunch of strangers out in the rain was the very height of discomfort. But he looked up in time to notice the way Steve's lips were so tight they'd lost color, to notice the red rimming Steve's eyes. Irritation and discomfort fled in the wake of seeing how emotional the other man had become.

“Let me finish getting ready. Should only be another ten minutes.” At which point, he reached for his suit jacket and tie.

***

The dedication ceremony took place in a late summer drizzle, the sky leaden with thick clouds. A plethora of black umbrellas sheltered attendees. As much as the monument memorialized the staggering loss of civilian lives, it was also a memorial for the death of Tony Stark.

First Lieutenant Stark's loss hanged in the air. Members of the Howling Commandos whipped a canvas covering from the statue that was the central focus of the monument. It depicted a full scale replica of the Iron Man F40 Avenger mid-flight and erupting from a fountain. Inside the cockpit rested a bronze statue of the man himself, the only Space Ready Airman to have given his life in service of his country.

Steve stood on a raised platform at attention alongside General Ross, Major General Maria Hill, and Lieutenant Colonel Danvers. General Ross had blathered on for half an hour about the importance of duty and service to one's country, about the glory of combat and America's victory over an alien species who sought to overthrow the governments of the world. It was all well and good, but Ross struck Bucky as the type of man for whom glory was the only thing that mattered.

Major General Hill, as it turned out, had taken over direct command of the Space Ready Airmen after the assassination of her predecessor, Lieutenant General Nick Fury. She'd served during the invasion as Fury's second in command and paid homage where it really belonged: to the men and women who'd risked their lives battling nose to nose with the alien invaders.

Lt. Col. Danvers stepped up to the podium next and used note cards to talk about the timely intervention of first responders to the scene: fire fighters, police officers, retired servicemen and women, members of the national guard who weren't deployed elsewhere. Many of them had lost their lives attempting to evacuate the city under duress. They had died protecting people.

Finally, Steve took her place behind the microphones and began reading from a professionally penned speech. About half a paragraph into extolling the virtues of the Space Ready Airmen program, he stacked the cards in front of him and covered them with his hands. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He struggled for a moment to find words only to lift his gaze to meet Bucky's.

Bucky offered a reassuring smile.

“I'm supposed to tell you how much of an honor it was to serve this country, and it was. The men and women of the SRA are some of the most dedicated people in our armed services. They willingly face unprecedented hostilities in the name of protecting this country. They are the world's first line of defense against the unknown enemies who may strike at any moment from the universe at large.

“Somebody wrote this speech because it would be good PR.” He waved the cards around. “But they didn't know Tony Stark, the man we're all here today to honor. They didn't know he was a genius who struggled with alcohol problems, who was reared by an absent father too busy inventing technical innovations to put a band-aide on his son's knee when he scraped it.

“They didn't know the Tony Stark who paid for a kid's college education because he believed in that kid's potential.” Steve moved a hand toward a college-age kid in the front row of seats. “They didn't know the Tony who had commitment issues but who loved a woman so completely he blew up his entire line of battle armor to win her back.” He indicated a redhead in the front row. “They didn't know how he struggled to juggle Tony the Engineer with Tony the Husband and Tony the Father.” He pointed to a dark-haired toddler seated next to the redhead.

“They didn't know how much the world lost when General Ross made me decide between giving Tony those extra three seconds it would have taken to get himself back through the portal and stopping the flood of aliens into our dimension.” The wet rivulets on Steve's face could have been mistaken for rainwater were it not for the redness around his eyes.

General Ross, meanwhile, stiffened and looked like he would take a step toward Steve.

“As his commanding officer, that's on me. I accept my part in his death. He was one of my men, one of my closest friends, and I chose to follow protocol and save a colleague from having to make that call for me. But the least I can do is be honest to all of you and the world.

“A lot of things went right that day. The men and women of the SRA responded with unmatched bravery and skill. Each and every person, from the first responders to the good Samaritans to the people who donated their time and money to search and rescue and clean-up did so with bravery, generosity, and heroism. But our leadership structure...

“The men and women who chose to launch a nuclear strike against American soil while the SRA was still engaged in holding back the tides. The men who directly ordered me to reroute my entire squadron away from Grand Central Station where thousands of people had taken shelter in order to save a caravan of politicians--”

General Ross attempted to grasp Steve's shoulders only to be held back by Hill and Danvers.

“To them, I have this to say. Shame on you. Shame on you for running your own agendas instead of saving lives. Shame on you for saving yourselves instead of the people who couldn't defend themselves. Shame on you for starting an incident inquiry against the Howling Commandos and Shield looking for some way to pin the fall-out on us instead of yourselves. A good man died that day so General Ross and Director Pierce could feed their need for idolatry and glory.

“You forgot something important when making decisions that day. We aren't your Space Ready Airmen. We're their Space Ready Airmen.” He swept his hand toward the crowd. “And Tony was one of us. One of our own. His life was not yours to write up as collateral damage.”

The audience went nuts with cheering. There was something about the quality of Steve's voice, the earnest way he spoke, that made the world want to believe in him. It sure as Hell worked on Bucky. He barely freaking knew his boyfriend, but the man's words had tightened his chest with pride.

Steve stepped away from the podium where shit hit the fan in the form of General Ross becoming apoplectic with rage and attempting to scream in Steve's face. Someone thought to cut the microphones off between “you sorry son of a bitch,” and “I'll sue you for libel, you fucking traitor.”

Eventually, the place cleared out once media caught on to the fact the fireworks were being taken indoors where they couldn't follow. Daisy Johnson moved over to intercept Bucky with a huge smile.

“That's Captain America for you. Never did know how to let sleeping dogs lie when there was injustice to fight for.”

“He always like that?”

“Yep. He's an activist's wet dream. It's probably gonna be a while before General Ross gets done chewing him out. The rest of us are heading over to Potts Tower. It's the DC branch of the Stark Organization. Anyhow, we're having a thing in Tony's honor. You wanna come with?”

“Is he gonna be okay? Steve, I mean.”

“Captain Rogers? Don't worry about him. Ms. Potts—she's Tony's widow and runs his company—has a team of very high priced lawyers on speed dial who are practically salivating for the chance to get one over on the United States government. No judge is gonna wanna commit career suicide by punishing the symbol of freedom that is Captain America.”

“I should text him. Let him know I'm going with you.” He shot off a quick text that read _'Being stolen off to the Tower by Airwoman Johnson. So proud of you today. You did great!'_

After that, he found himself shuttled into a wheelchair accessible cab and following Lt. Johnson into the sleek, modern lobby of Potts Tower. It was an environment completely foreign to him, all glass and chrome with a mezzanine level just above the ground floor that contained a coffee shop and several boutique stores.

They by-passed the security desk when Lt Johnson waved a badge in the guard's direction and went to a pair of elevators around a corner and tucked away behind a seating area. A warm, British voice welcomed them inside, just about making Bucky leap out of his skin.

“The elevator is talking to us,” he said.

“I am not the elevator, Mr. Barnes. I am J.A.R.V.I.S. Sir dubbed me Just A Rather Very Intelligent System and gave me the great pleasure of running the intricacies of his buildings. More importantly, he gave me the honor of looking out for his family following his death.”

“So you're a computer program.”

“I prefer Synthetic Person.”

“Well, aloha, Mr. Jarvis. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky's brow furrowed. “He built a person. Mr. Stark was so smart he built a fully functioning adult?”

“Yep.”

Elevator doors opened into a lounge where some of the SRA had already gathered. Being around so many strangers was pretty overwhelming. He didn't quite know where to start. They all had shared experience on their side while he was just the boyfriend of one of their team members. Luckily, he started noticing other people he hadn't been introduced to. Other spouses and significant others by the looks of things, so it didn't take him long to be invited into their midst.

The main topic for conversation became kids and recipes which was something Bucky knew only a little about. It allowed his attention to wander, and he turned elsewhere to see Bruce sitting by himself in a quiet corner. The man's salt-and-pepper hair was sticking up wildly, testament to fingers being dragged through it habitually. He couldn't really understand what it felt like to be shy or to have social anxieties, but he could be that one annoying extrovert who wouldn't let someone sit by themselves.

He motored over, grabbing a glass of—sparkling cider since the carters had been warned he was underage and quickly moved the champagne tray out of his reach in favor of the non-alcoholic substitute. No fair. Carrying a glass of sparking cider and a little plate of finger foods, he rolled himself up beside Bruce with a friendly smile.

“Major Banner, right?”

“That's me.”

“I was talking to the significant others, but they got on about kids. Once they're old enough to go to the toilet by themselves and moderate their vocal cords, they're okay. Before that, it's pretty hit and miss.”

“Not a fan of children?”

“On the contrary, I love the idea of kids. I just don't have any experience with them.”

“I like babies. Babies have no malicious intent. All they want to do is sleep, cuddle, and nurse.”

Bucky made a gesture meant to be interpreted as 'I suppose' or 'I have nothing further to add,' but Banner didn't take the lull in conversation as time to bring up a topic of his own. Rather, he returned to looking out the glass wall onto the DC skyline.

Okay then. Instigating Banner into a social exchange was trickier than he'd expected. No big deal.

“Favorite sports team?”

“Not really into sports.”

“Last movie you watched in theaters.”

“Jurassic Park.”

“Do you mean Jurassic World?”

“No, I meant Park.”

“You haven't been to a movie theater since nineteen ninety-three?”

“Not big on film entertainment.”

“Favorite musician.”

A beat of silence.

“Come on. Music is the world's heartbeat. Everybody likes music.”

Finally, Banner said, “Arvo Pärt, but I don't expect you've heard of him.”

“Wait, he's that new rapper out of Jamaica, right?”

Bruce's brows flattened.

“Come on. That was a joke. He's a minimalist composer from Estonia. I like his work.”

“You've actually heard of him.”

“Why would you assume otherwise?”

“Because you're--”

“Young?” he guessed.

“Hip.”

“You think I'm hip?” The idea made him chuckle. “I'm an art dork.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I had a gallery showing in Oahu last month-- Well, I guess it wasn't last month. It feels like it was last month, but I got in this accident and cracked my head like an egg. Now I sometimes wake up with no memories after the accident. So the showing was actually more than a year ago.”

“How does that work out with your relationship with Captain Rogers?”

Bucky popped a piece of shrimp into his mouth. “It's difficult. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels as natural as breathing. Anyhow, what's your favorite Arvo Pärt composition?”

“Silentium. It quiets the mind and takes me away from the present, you become so enchanted by the music you don't realize you haven't left your living room. Good music for meditation. And yoga.”

“Great choice. Mine's Spiegel im Spiegel for viola and piano. It makes me want to cry. There's something haunting about it but also profoundly hopeful. When I get married, I want to make love to my spouse on our wedding night to that composition.” He huffed a bit of laughter. “Well, you know. If I ever find anyone who can put up with this long term.” He indicated the wheelchair.

Bruce turned his attention toward Bucky.

“Oh. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with me. It's a struggle living like this sometimes, but finding someone patient enough to deal with someone as fabulous as me is the hard part.”

Bruce went back to looking out the window.

Bucky thought maybe the conversation had come to its natural conclusion.

The other man suddenly spoke, “Tony was my brother in every way that mattered.”

Bucky kept quiet, giving him space to say what he wanted to say.

“He was the bridge between myself and the rest of the world. Then he was killed. My bridge was destroyed. Captain Rogers was no longer Captain America. Learning how to navigate the world without them has been,” he paused a heart beat to find the right word, “a challenge.”

“Would you like another friend? I can't guarantee we won't have the same conversation on repeat. I am a broken record, after all.” He grinned.

The ghost of a smile pulled Bruce's mouth. “I think I'd like that.”

“Totally gonna write about you in my journal tonight.”

It wasn't much longer before Steve finally arrived on the heels of Major General Hill. She looked like a cat fat on cream and paused long enough to grip Steve's impressive bicep to exchange a quick word before heading off to speak with Ms. Potts. Steve, meanwhile, made a bee-line in Bucky's direction to crouch in front of his wheelchair.

Having such intense focus felt a little like being an ant under a magnifying glass. But it was also strangely erotic. He quickly changed his mind. Erotic wasn't the right word. It made him feel like the only person in the room, told him that Steve had eyes only for him, and made him breathless with anticipation. Like tiny electrical currents slithered up and down his nerve endings.

“Hi,” he whispered in awe of the man's attention.

“Hi,” Steve returned. “Doing okay?”

“Sure. Lieutenant Johnson and Major Banner have been taking good care of me.”

Steve settled a big, warm palm against the side of his throat and leaned forward for a kiss.

That morning's trepidation seemed to have fled in the light of Steve's impassioned defense of the Howlies and just plain passionate focus on Bucky, so he was happy to accept the kiss.

“Bruce, how are you?” asked Steve.

“I approve of your boyfriend.”

“Good. That's good.”

Bucky blushed.

“Get into trouble with Ross?”

“He seems to think so, but I'm not worried. Most they can do is sue me for breach of non-disclosure agreement. Ms. Potts already has her lawyers on it.”

Bruce reached out without warning and clasped hold of Steve's forearm. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Speaking up for him. For letting the world know what really happened.”

“It was the least I can do. I disappeared after retirement and left you all floundering, left you to clean up the mess after the invasion. I did the one thing I swore I wouldn't do, and that's run.”

“Sometimes running's the only way to stay sane.”

They carried on the conversation for a while, and Bucky was happy to take a back seat. Seemed like there was a lot of baggage between Steve and his Howling Commandos that needed to be sorted out before his boyfriend found any sort of closure.

Bucky was content to be the buffer whenever needed, to keep conversations moving, and to get to know a piece of Steve's life before they became an item. He spoke with practically everyone there. Joey and Mack were a special kind of delight, both incredibly masculine men who were opening a mechanics shop together while a pair of feisty Pomeranians waited at home.

Ms. Potts became interested in the art program at the youth correctional institute and wanted a closer look at his personal portfolio, an easy enough thing to show her from cloud storage. Having a woman who curated the Stark Collection praise his work brought a special kind of good feeling that made him stand a little straighter, made him think that maybe he could take art more seriously. Of course, then she practically made him swoon by wanting to purchase two of his pieces.

The sale completed, and her payment transferred into his Paypal account as he was on the phone instructing his dad to package the originals and have them shipped to Stark Tower.

By that point, Steve meandered over to join them, one hand settling on Bucky's shoulder. His boyfriend shared a quiet conversation with Tony's widow, one he did his best not to accidentally eavesdrop on, and after, they said their goodbyes. 

A wheelchair accessible cab awaited them outside to take them back to their hotel where Bucky fell into an exhausted heap on their bed.

Some part of him dreaded the night, dreaded the idea of sleeping wherein his brain might decide to reset back to factory settings. He fought the heaviness of his eyes as long as he could, he and his boyfriend lying on their sides in the king bed and having a quiet conversation.

Steve looked vulnerable. Bucky reached out to smooth the care lines furrowing the man's brow. He thought about how much strength it had taken for his boyfriend to stand at that podium and expose what he thought were his biggest failings. The kind of character required to do that astounded him, and it was that point he realized his misgivings that morning were baseless.

The man might have a temper, but the sum of his parts was a thing to be admired, a thing to be respected. He smiled and pressed a quick kiss to the man's lips. It was at that point that he recognized the admiration tightening his chest for what it was: Love.


	11. We Hope You Enjoy Your Flight on Captain America Airlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes Bucky on a phenomenal date, and they have a serious talk about Steve's anger issues.

Steve masked his disappointment the following morning when Bucky woke without memories of the previous day, but it was something George had prepared him for. Traveling would never be easy for his boyfriend. The stress of it meant he would be prone to more difficult days. It made sense. Waking up in a strange environment was disconcerting for healthy people let alone for someone with his boyfriend's challenges.

Disorientation and a bad headache seemed the worst of it on their third day in Washington. Bucky couldn't piece together where he was, not even with the help of the DVD and his journal, so he retreated into the bathroom to call George.

The desire was there to take care of him, but that didn't seem to be what Bucky needed. Instead, he got them breakfast downstairs and laid out his boyfriend's medications. He got the other man to eat and take his pills before tucking him back into bed and turning out the lights to keep from aggravating the headache. He didn't try to cuddle. He'd learned his lesson yesterday that Bucky needed space.

They spent the morning like that, but by the time afternoon bled into evening, Bucky got enough of his energy back to practically shove Steve out the hotel room door with admonitions that he should go out with his friends. He didn't like the idea of leaving his boyfriend by himself in a strange environment, but the other man was insistent, and he knew how much Bucky hated being treated like a child.

So in the end, he met Carol and Thor for dinner, a quiet bistro in an out-of-the-way location that allowed them to get caught up. Seeing Carol, especially, face to face made him feel awful for the way he'd handled Tony's death. He'd been their leader, and when they'd looked to be led, he'd disappeared into the ether. It was a mistake he would spend the rest of his life making up for.

It wasn't all bad. Learning how to laugh together again was a joy. Slotting back into old habits around them proved simple enough. Thor, as always, was the most boisterous of the three. He was loud and always had a joke on the tip of his tongue. Carol was more reserved but laughed easily and with her whole body. Steve, though, was the quietest of their little group, content to listen to them spin stories while he drank beer and dug into a steak.

Carol suddenly shifted the conversation when she said around a mouthful of fish, “You know, my aunt became my uncle's caretaker after he had a bad stroke. Paralyzed one half of his body. It was rough on her. She devoted all her energy to making sure he was okay and wound up burning out. Had to admit him into a nursing facility.”

“That's a tough break,” Steve returned. He cut into his steak and focused on the juice pouring out instead of the message Carol was trying to convey.

“You've always been an active man. This thing with Bucky-- He's a great kid and all, but are you sure you're ready to become a full time caretaker?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Would you get that chip off your shoulder and stop snapping and snarling?” she said.

He eased his grip when he felt the metal of his fork warp.

“I'm just saying. You haven't had a lot of relationships, and you took it really hard when Peggy and you went your separate ways. You should know what you're getting yourself into before leaping.”

“I know what I'm getting myself into.”

“Do you?” asked Thor. “My father has Alzheimer’s. My mother takes care of him. To the point where her other personal relationships have suffered.”

“Jesus Christ, did you two talk to Sam when I wasn't listening?”

“Maybe if several people are telling you the same thing...” Carol allowed it to trail off.

“He makes me happy,” Steve said, his voice having lost all its edge.

“And that's great. That's fantastic, Steve. Just make sure you don't get lost along the way. Make sure you carve out enough time to have relationships outside Bucky. I know you, Rogers,” Carol said. “I know how hard you dial down on your relationships.”

“You don't hug the teddy bear. You put the teddy bear in a vice and squeeze the stuffing out of it,” explained Thor. “Do you remember on our Mars mission? You went AWOL to rescue Peggy from that rock slide and put everyone on the team at risk.”

Steve felt his face heat up with anger again.

But Thor spoke over his rising tensions, saying, “Bring your spikes down. It was the right call at the time. Just be aware that you have an unhealthy fixation on sacrificing yourself for the sake of others. Sometimes I wonder if you've got all your horses in the stable.”

“That's all we're saying. Take care of yourself. Be aware that the caretaker needs a support system, too.” She lifted her mug of beer. “Now, as Thor would say, 'let's drink so hard our hair hurts.'”

“I do not say that.”

“You totally say that,” Carol accused.

Steve felt tension drain out of him and a small smile quirk his lips. “You do say that. I think it's Scandinavian for being hungover.”

***

Bucky felt better the following morning, thank all that was holy. Yesterday's memories were lost into the ether of sleep, but he managed to orient himself in the universe using his journal and the DVD and seemed in better spirits than the past couple of days. A fact evidenced by him emerging from the bathroom still damp from a shower and lifting his face for a good morning kiss.

Steve was happy to oblige and righteously relieved given his plans for the day. He'd wanted to do something special for Bucky, make sure the trip was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for him. So he suggested they go out for breakfast. They wound up at a little bistro specializing in brunch where Steve had a mimosa that he gave sips of to Bucky when the staff weren't watching, and they shared a huge plate of french toast and fresh fruit. 

Bucky fork-fought him over the last slice of pineapple. They laughed over some of Steve's war-time stories, and for some reason, his boyfriend turned apoplectic upon checking his bank account before they headed out sight-seeing and souvenir-buying. Apparently, there was about twenty grand too much, a miracle soon answered when they traced the funds back to Ms. Potts having bought Bucky's art.

“Hey, congratulations!” exclaimed Steve.

“That's a nice 'my hippocampus is like a sieve' surprise. I have money burning a hole in my bank account. Where do you wanna go first?”

“Well, I got us tickets to see Hamilton this afternoon.” Steve had nearly bitten off his tongue over the price tag of matinee seats of any worth. “Tomorrow, I figured I should go back to the memorial and take a closer look at it after the crowds of yesterday. If you're interested.”

“If I'm interested? Of course I am! Steve. I've never been to a live show before. This is so exciting.”

So they finished their breakfast and caught a cab, not to any of the local theaters—Hamilton hadn't started its opening run at the Kennedy Center yet—but to a private airstrip outside the DC metro area where a sleek plane awaited them. It looked nothing like the standard two-seater available on the market and much more like a hybrid of the F-40 Avengers. De-weaponized of course. It was ultra-modern, gleamed in the sunlight, and was painted in the red white and blues of Captain America.

Steve stepped out and greeted the Stark employees already attending to the ship's pre-flight fueling before heading around to open the other door. Bucky rolled his chair down from the vehicle and glanced around with wide eyes.

“I'm confused. I thought we were going to a theater.”

“We are. Hamilton isn't showing at any of the DC area theaters right now.”

“We're gonna fly in that?”

“Yep. Meet the original Captain America. She's the prototype the F-40 Avengers were based on. Tony gave her to me for my twenty-third birthday.”

“Wow.” The other man rubbed the back of his neck. “Some birthday present.”

“Right? Your motorized chair won't fit inside the cockpit, but I've arranged for another chair to be waiting for us when we reach the New York airstrip. If you're comfortable with this, we should get started soon or we'll miss the show.”

Bucky took about two seconds to flash a mega-watt grin. “I totally want to fly with you, Beefcake.”

Getting Bucky settled inside the cockpit involved a moveable staircase. His boyfriend managed the stairs under his own steam, but by the time he reached the apex, his leg strength was gone, so Steve stepped up to sweep the man into his arms. He helped his boyfriend worm into the secondary seat and showed him how to do up his restraints, even tucked the flight helmet into place that would allow them to communicate comfortably with each other and ground support if necessary.

Steve thanked the crew, shook hands with them, and dropped into the cockpit behind the yoke where he tugged his helmet into place. “Do you read me, Buck?”

“Loud and clear. Oh my God, this is so exciting, I think I'm gonna pee my pants.”

“That's why I asked you to cath this morning.”

Bucky giggled.

Steve went through the necessary pre-flight diagnostics. Then he flicked a switch to close and seal the aircraft canopy and finally fired up the engines. They roared to life beneath him, but the aircraft had been designed so well they barely felt the vibrations through their seats.

There was no need to taxi in the Captain America. He merely engaged the down-thrusts to rearrange their engine configuration to provide the lift necessary for them to become air-born. Another control returned their thrusts to their forward-facing default setting.

Behind him, Bucky didn't bother silencing his awe. “I'm in a fighter plane. With my boyfriend. My boyfriend was a fighter pilot. My boyfriend can fly a plane. How awesome is that?”

“Pretty awesome, I'd say, but that's just me.”

Soon, they had achieved appropriate altitude, and Steve moved from the controls to checking in with ground control at the nearest airports to have them logged into the air traffic systems. That way they wouldn't accidentally cross the same flight path as another jet or a commercial airline.

He settled in behind the yoke after that, allowed himself to sink into the joy of flying. Even after the catastrophic conclusion of the invasion battle, he hadn't lost his love of being in the air. Nothing made him feel freer than watching the world rush by beneath him.

“Can I ask a question?” Bucky asked.

“Shoot.”

“If this is your plane, why do you keep it in DC? Why not Oahu?”

“You know, I'm not sure. The SRA is stationed out of Joint Base Andrews. It made sense to keep the plane close by. I suppose relocating it to Oahu never occurred to me.”

“You should consider it. I think you'd like having Captain America closer to home.”

The rest of the flight went by with much less introspection. His boyfriend looked through the cockpit windows, exclaiming about various landmarks he could see whizzing by. Enthusiasm coating the other man's voice made the whole trip worth it. He'd never seen Bucky so animated and excited about something before, so he adjusted his phone camera to make sure he got a better view of Bucky's face. The could incorporate the footage of the flight into his DVD, give him a memento to hang onto even when his memories failed him and allowed the visceral reminders to fade into non-existence.

As they neared New York airspace, he got in touch with ground control to request permission to land at Teterboro. Once permission was granted, he brought the plane in for a quiet landing, much to the awe of the ground crew awaiting them. It had been years since Captain America had graced their airport.

Steve lifted Bucky from the cockpit, receiving a kiss on the cheek, and carried him down to the waiting wheelchair. It wasn't a motorized variety, but that was fine. He liked pushing Bucky around. It made him feel good to take care of his boyfriend like that.

Ms. Potts had sent a car for them, so they made the trip from New Jersey into Manhattan and were dropped off at the Richard Rogers Theater. When Steve went to pick the tickets up from will call, he almost dropped to the floor to find said tickets had been upgraded by Ms. Potts to a private box. Calling it a box was a misnomer. It wasn't square at all, but it only contained two seats. An usher pulled one of the seats away to make room for Bucky's wheelchair, at which point, the youth snatched hold of Steve's hand and made baby seal noises.

“Can you believe this?”

“No, I can't.” He smiled and brought Bucky's knuckles to his lips.

They were startled again when more ushers delivered a bottle of bubbly—non-alcoholic on account of Bucky—and a dish of gourmet strawberries. Because Ms. Potts obviously intended on spoiling them for any future shows they might like to attend. Nothing would measure up.

Of particular interest to Bucky were the stained glass lighting fixtures and the Italian-inspired murals adorning the walls above the stage and the private boxes. Whatever Bucky called them was lost in the exuberance the other man exuded but didn't compare to the waves of excitement rolling off the man once the luxurious curtains lifted on the opening scene.

Honestly, the best part for Steve wasn't the show or the atmosphere. It was watching Bucky, witnessing unrestrained excitement bleeding into the other man's expression, the way he marveled a the architecture, the decoration, the lighting, the costumes. The costumes seemed to be one of his boyfriend's favorite parts of the afternoon.

The show wasn't too bad either.

But Steve's would walk away feeling proud for having helped Bucky experience something so wonderful. He walked away only having watched about a fourth of the musical. But that was fine. Sitting in the dark, eating strawberries and drinking sparkling cider while his boyfriend had a complete spaz attack was delightful, too.

After the show, they stopped off at a restaurant and grill for an early dinner before making their way back to the airport to return to Washington DC. It was a shame they couldn't stay longer. He would have liked to have shown Bucky some of his Brooklyn haunts, but they only had another two days before they flew home to Hawaii. He wanted to spend those showing Bucky the DC monuments.

Maybe they could take another trip. For their anniversary. The thought warmed his chest.

***

The seal on Bucky's bag broke in the middle of the night.

Steve woke to the tremendous odor, but more importantly, he woke to his boyfriend's frustrated sobbing. Bucky misjudged the distance between the edge of the bed and his chair in his emotional state and fell, body thumping against the carpet when his legs didn't cooperate.

Steve was out of bed in a heartbeat. He rounded the foot and reached out for Bucky, who warded him off with a raised hand and a ragged “I can mother humping do it!”

Hands held aloft, he backed up several steps to give his boyfriend some space. The thing was, he could only watch the man struggle so much before taking matters into his own hands regardless of Bucky's dignity, so after the third failed attempt to get his legs beneath him, Steve ignored the spit and vinegar pouring off the man, scooped him up, and deposited him in the wheelchair.

“God bless it. I said I could freaking do it by myself,” snarled Bucky.

“Thing is, you don't have to.”

“Just-- Just move. I'm covered in shit. Still think I'm a catch? Can't even get up by my freaking self. Covered in freaking shit.” He trailed off into inaudible grumbling.

But Steve didn't move. He planted himself in the middle of the road and said, “Let me help you.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Buck, let me help you.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ, I just want to fucking help you!”

Startled, the other man glared up at him. Fire leaped in his eyes. It wouldn't have been surprising had smoke poured from his ears.

Impasse.

Voice barely above a whisper, his boyfriend admitted, “Sometimes your temper really scares me.”

He felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “What? Bucky, I'd never--”

“When you're really angry, I don't recognize your eyes anymore. Your eyes are beautiful. Blue like a summer sky, but when you're angry, they darken.” He was silent for a moment before continuing, “You use your temper and size to intimidate people into doing what you want.”

“I do?”

“I don't think you realize you're doing it, but the way you're hovering over me and shouting scares me. You're trying to intimidate me into doing it your way, and I don't like it. You're a really good guy, Steve, and I think I'm falling in love with you, but your temper will be the death of us.”

All the air went out of Steve's shoulders. He slumped onto the foot of the bed, a hollow feeling in the wake of his boyfriend's proclamation like Bucky had taken an ice cream scoop and carved out his insides. Perception was reality, his VA therapist had once told him. It didn't matter if what Bucky said was true; it only mattered that Bucky believed it to be true.

“I'm sorry. Bucky, I'm so sorry.”

A gentle hand rested on the crown of his head, fingers sifting through blond hair.

Then, quietly, Bucky said, “Bring my bag. Help me get cleaned up.”

Steve scrambled to obey the instructions, following his boyfriend into the bathroom where Bucky had already set out the collapsible shower chair. He watched his boyfriend peel off his sleep clothing, soaked with feces, and remove the used bag and wafer. Feces irritated the skin, so Steve knew enough to have some wipes ready so Bucky could clean himself up.

While Bucky did that, he moved to curl up the used bag to dispose of it only to have his boyfriend's hand grasp hold of his wrist.

“You don't have to. It's gross.”

“Buck, it's just shit. Washes off easy with soap and water.”

“It really doesn't bother you?”

“Sweetheart, when you've been shat upon by over-eager penguins you lose your gag reflex entirely.”

A giggle escaped his boyfriend.

Steve retrieved the used bag, disposed of it, put the soiled clothes in the sink to soak, and washed his hands. Clean, he proceeded to help Bucky into his shower chair and adjusted the water to a more comfortable temperature before kneeling with soap and a wash cloth. Tension held his boyfriend utterly still for a few heartbeats before bleeding into relaxation.

“I'm sorry if I've intimidated you.”

“Maybe you should look into getting some help to manage your anger.”

He wasn't sure how to take that suggestion.

“I'm serious.”

“I know.”

Anger had been his shield for so long he couldn't imagine what it would be like to suddenly feel peaceful, not just peaceful but content. Vulnerable was a good word. The idea of feeling it even scarier, but there was nothing he wouldn't do for Bucky's sake. And there was another frightening thought. His boyfriend had become as necessary as air. His VA therapist would call that unhealthy. He would call it the happiest he'd been since his mother's death.

He helped Bucky soap and rinse. He helped the man step out of the shower. He handed over the necessary items for putting a new ostomy bag in place.

Clean and dressed, they got themselves settled back into bed, but sleep was an illusive bitch and refused to allow him to sink under even long after Bucky's breathing had evened. 

Things were better the following morning. Bucky woke with yesterday's memories intact and feeling mostly chipper, at least chipper enough that they went out to breakfast and then off for a full day of sightseeing. They skipped the White House on principle. Who in their right mind wanted to catch a glimpse of Donald Trump quacking around the corridors?

They stopped at the Lincoln Memorial, spent an hour at the World War II memorial, and took photos at the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial. Solemn, they moved through the Vietnam Veterans memorial where Steve shared painful stories about his father coming home from that war a different man, a cold and distant man who never really learned how to be a civilian again after the horrors of war.

Lunchtime rolled around, and they bought some street vendor fare and ate outside the Thomas Jefferson memorial. Bucky attempted to bring some levity back to their day by feeding bits of his bread to the ducks that gathered around the monument. That went well until one particular duck got tired of waiting his turn and waddled right over to steel the entire crust of bread. Its loud squawk startled Bucky into jumping out of his skin, and Steve nearly fell off the wall laughing.

The Korean Veterans memorial was haunting. Bucky pulled out his sketchpad and drew some of the statuary at the FDR monument while Steve admired the view of the cherry trees and occasionally reflected on how photorealistic his boyfriend's art was.

But they ended their day at the SRA monument.

Steve flattened his palm over Iron Man's wing, and for the first time in his life, he allowed the sadness and grief to take him. Each wing of the aircraft had been carved with the names of those who had died during the conflict. There were thousands of them. The death toll had measured in the tens of thousands. Parts of New York's infrastructure still hadn't recovered even so many years later.

One name stuck out amidst all the rest, and he traced his finger over “Doris Polanski.” He swallowed.

“Doris was a waitress at a little cafe near Stark Tower. I used to have lunch there when I wasn't on maneuvers. She was kind, never bothered me for my autograph, kept a lot of other customers from swarming me. I asked her out once, so she introduced me to her wife. Later found out she was in Grand Central Station when the Others brought the structure down.”

Bucky rested a hand on the small of his back.

“They tell us our first duty is to protect the politicians. We need those in order to stabilize the government during times of crisis, but it felt wrong. How can a handful of lives be more important than thousands? Rerouting from Grand Central was just about the hardest thing I've ever had to do.”

His boyfriend's hand smoothed over his back, but the man allowed Steve the space to talk.

“All these lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye, and we couldn't save them.”

“I can't imagine how awful shouldering that kind of weight must feel.”

He was a little surprised when Bucky didn't try to convince him their deaths weren't on his shoulders. There was something nice about having his feelings validated instead of brushed off. It was easy for an outsider to declare him free of guilt but something entirely different to accept his own limitations.

“First day I met Tony at the academy, we got in a fight.” He laughed. “I couldn't even tell you right now what we fought about it. Something silly, I'm sure. Thing is, we had shared life experience. We both knew what it felt like to be much younger than our peers. We both understood the hardship of growing up too fast around people who resented a couple of kids in their midst.

“God-fucking-damn-it, I couldn't stand him at first. Cocky bastard used to living to excess and pushing people around him to do the same. You know, I didn't used to curse.”

“Really?”

“One of our first missions out, the Maximoff twins dropped the eff bomb. I made the mistake of calling them on their language. Got so sick of Tony's teasing that I started cursing just to shock the shit outta him.” He smiled fondly over the memory.

After a moment of introspection, he breathed, “He didn't deserve what happened to him. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can imagine what he must have felt, the fear and desperation he must have felt in those last few seconds. I shoulda waited for him. Why didn't I wait for him?”

Bucky finally spoke. “Because it was a shit situation. You were surrounded by death and chaos and had a superior officer shouting the order into your ear.”

“That's no excuse.”

His boyfriend switched tactics. “If your places were reversed, would you want him carrying the kind of guilt you do?”

“No. We all knew the risks every time we got inside the cockpit.”

The expression on his boyfriend's face was pointed and patient.

Finally, Steve exploded, “Don't logic me right now, Bucky Barnes.”

The guy's lips curved into an impish smile. Moments later, he drove his chair over to look at a different part of the monument, giving Steve some time alone to process.

Thing was that letting go wasn't all that easy. As evidenced by how poorly he'd taken his mother's death all those years ago. He'd almost dropped out of the academy when the news had been delivered. Steve Rogers didn't take life-altering news gracefully. He tended to rage against it. 

How he was supposed to leave Tony in the past, accept his role in his fellow airman's death, and find peace didn't come like a lightning bolt. It wasn't flashy like a firecracker.

He looked at the figure of his fallen brother inside the cockpit and apologized. For not being stronger. For not fighting harder. For letting Tony down. Words he'd needed to say for a long damn time finally dripped like candle wax from his mouth: hot with grief and slow as molasses.

By the time he turned away to find his boyfriend, he wiped tears off his cheeks and snuffled back the evidence of his tears. Finding Bucky entertaining some kids by sketching their caricatures came as absolutely no surprise. That kid was amazing with children, and he was struck for the first time by a vision of Bucky sprawled across a rug giving their children art lessons.

Imagining a future with Bucky Barnes made him feel warm inside. They could get married at some point. Adopt kids. Build a life together.

Steve turned his back on his past and moved toward his future.

They went to dinner that evening with some of the SRA but were eager to get back to their hotel room.

His boyfriend went to change his bag, which meant Steve had time to pull back the covers and make sure lube and condoms were easily accessible. It also gave him time to meet his boyfriend on the bed completely naked with one hand already around his swollen cock. Bucky took in the scene with a pleased expression and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

The other man got up and walked the last couple of steps to the bed, got onto his hands and knees where he crawled up the bed until he could straddle Steve's thighs. Steve glanced up at him in awe. His big palms cupped his boyfriend's bare flesh.

“So beautiful,” he breathed.

“You aren't so bad yourself, sugar.”

Then they kissed with hot mouths and velvet tongues, one of Steve's palms sliding up Bucky's back to settle against his shoulder blade. Said hand grazed down the man's long back to settle over the curve of an ass cheek, fingers tucked just between the cheeks until they found the core of Bucky's heat.

“Can I?” asked Steve.

“Yes.”

Fingertips massaged the hole until it relaxed, allowing him to slip the tip of a finger inside. Being surrounded by that tight clutch made his head spin, and he wanted to remove his finger and push inside. But he was patient, patient and intensely focused on the wonder bleeding through his boyfriend's facial expressions, the way his mouth dropped open when Steve found his prostate, the soft hitch of his breathing when Steve rubbed that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way he bit his bottom lip and rolled his hips in tiny circles to redirect Steve's finger where he wanted it.

Steve wouldn't trade seeing the man he loved so open and vulnerable for the world. So he took his time. Snapped open their bottle of lube to coat his fingers in slick and returned to the heat with two fingers rather than one. And when he found Bucky's prostate again, he didn't let up but attacked it with bold strokes and small vibrations until the man above him mewed helplessly.

“Sugar, you gotta stop or you're gonna make me come.”

“That's kinda the idea.”

“There's only one flaw in your plan. If you make me come, you won't be sticking that disco stick inside my ass tonight.” Buck's impish smile made Steve's heart clench.

He withdrew his fingers, wrapped his arms around Bucky's frame, and rolled them to place his boyfriend beneath him where he captured the man's lips again. They got lost for a while in kissing each other, forgot their lower halves until Steve rutted up against Bucky's stomach, their erections grazing against each other, friction smoothed by the copious amounts of pre-come drooling from Steve's slit.

It reminded him he had a purpose, so he rose up onto his heels to roll on a condom and slick himself generously, at which point, he positioned himself against Bucky's entrance.

“Still yes?”

“Enthusiastically yes.”

Steve penetrated Bucky with one long push, going achingly slow to give his boyfriend plenty of time to adjust to the invasion. Bucky gasped. He arched his svelte body, and the electric zing of their naked flesh coming together took Steve's breath away.

He stilled once he was fully seated inside, stilled and attacked his boyfriend's mouth again. When he finally started rocking his hips, they breathed in each other's exhalations. It was like they could become one flesh, one body, one heart, and fuck, this was what it was really like to make love.

Patience wore thin when the incredible heat clutched around his cock, when he felt the slippery mess of his boyfriend's pre-come slicking their stomachs. He moaned. He pressed their foreheads together and lifted one of Bucky's legs higher around his waist so he could better drive into the tight grip.

“Sweetheart. Fuck, Sweetheart, never gonna let you go. I need you so much, Baby.”

“I'm right here, Stevie.”

With another snap of his hips, joy rushed through his body to empty into the condom. His whole body seized before driving into his boyfriend with erratic thrusts and harsh whimpers. Then he went boneless for a few heartbeats before pulling out and crawling down the bed to lock his mouth around Bucky's cock. Two fingers plunged into his lover, and with fingertips lodged against prostate, it only took two or three bobs of his head before Bucky was coming.

After, they rested together, legs tangled and hearts coming down from their high.


	12. George Barnes Learns To Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things in House Barnes take a turn for the worst, and Bucky moves out to gain some independence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Homophobic and racist language in a prison setting.

Returning from the continent was miserable. It started with the arrangement of the plane's seating areas. People practically had to crawl over Bucky in order to make their way into coach, which meant he felt every irritable flier's ire for slowing their boarding process. In turn, the flight attendants took out their stress on him. Steve snapped at one passenger whose passive aggressive comments about how disabled people shouldn't be allowed to fly made Bucky cringe. It was all he could do to keep his boyfriend from starting a fist fight and getting them thrown off the airline.

Their flight hit several pockets of turbulence along the way, so by the time they landed, Bucky's head was killing him from the air pressure and his entire body was sore from being jerked around inside the cabin. All he wanted was to collapse in his own bed, a desire made easily attained by Alani and his sister picking him up from the airport.

He may have ruined their plans to take him to lunch, but that was something he could make up to them later. After kissing his boyfriend goodbye and watching Steve climb into a car driven by Sam, he rolled up into his van to get settled for the ride home.

Things at the house were strange, though, as evidenced by the brown boxes stacked inside the living room. Dad and Becca tried to tell him they were moving things around to start renovating the upstairs, but he could tell by the tension between them there was more going on than home repair. Still, he let it go for the time being in favor of sleeping off his headache.

The sleeping pill hit him particularly hard, and he wound up sleeping through the evening and into the next morning, rousing only when Dad came in to help him change his bag and drink some soup. They spoke only briefly about the trip before he was dropping off again.

Tension lingered in the household the next morning when he was up and helping Becca make eggs and bacon. It felt like walking into a club moments before a fight broke out, aggressive energies crackling through the atmosphere and keeping him from feeling settled. He tried asking what was going on only to be blown off with a quick, and clearly false, reassurance from his sister.

By that point, he'd gotten sick of being treated like a child, so much so that he took a page from Steve's playbook and snapped, “Stop treating me like a freaking child and tell me what the frick-frack-ding-dong is going on around here, or so help me, Rebecca Barnes...”

George got up from his arm chair to come into the kitchen. “The 29th Infantry is being deployed as part of President Trump's troop surge into Syria.”

The truth hit him like a battering ram right to the solar plexus. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You're going to Syria. You'll be fighting in Syria?” He lifted his glance toward his sister.

She nodded once.

“She'll finally get the glory she's longed for.” And there was something in his father's voice that sounded bitter and disappointed.

“Dad,” she warned. Then, quieter and with far more honey in her voice, she said to Bucky, “I'll be gone between six and eighteen months. When I come back from deployment, I'll be getting an apartment with a couple of friends. I'll still live close by. We'll still see each other enough that you'll get sick of me, but things aren't working out here.”

“Oh.” He wasn't sure what else to say.

“I'm not leaving you, Kiddo. Just means I'll be sleeping under a different roof.”

“No, I understand. You're twenty-eight. About time you took the chance to live your own life. The last thing I want is you putting your life on hold because of me.”

They settled down to breakfast, but the silence was heavy between the three of them. Somewhere, a nuclear reactor had gone into meltdown mode and was leaking radiation between Dad and Becca. He'd known their relationship was tumultuous. Dad expected way too much of his daughter, especially after the accident. She'd been asked to take on far more responsibility than she should have.

The situation worsened over the following days. Bucky went to PT. He got back onto his regular teaching schedule. But the longer he was inside that house, the more he felt the growing rift between two people he loved most in the world. Nothing Alani did could perk him up. Not even a trip to the aquatic park and visiting with Marvel relieved the stress of his home environment.

He lived in the stagnant moments leading up to a thunderstorm when the atmosphere was so saturated with moisture you could feel the coming storm that refused to break. The air was heavy. It affected him in ways he couldn't vocalize, in ways he wouldn't vocalize for fear of saying the wrong thing and making it about him when it should be about Rebecca's need to have her own life.

Then, a full two weeks following his return from DC, he came home from work to find Dad and Becca at each other's throats again. They hadn't yet realized he'd entered the house, their voices like thunderclaps, postures full of aggression like two gladiators facing off in the Colosseum.

“You have no idea what you're getting into,” shouted Dad. “I do. For fudge's sakes, Becca. We're not talking about a picnic in the desert. It's war.”

“I freaking know it's war! Stop treating me like I'm a perpetual teenager.”

“In Vietnam...”

“Oh God, here we go again.”

“Rebecca.”

“We know, Dad. Vietnam sucked. You had to carry your buddies out on your shoulders. The guy you took a piss with the night before suddenly had his guts blown out right next to you.”

“I never wanted that for you,” he shouted.

“I wanted it for me,” she snarled. “Can't you understand that? I want to serve my country, make sure freedom is a thing my children and their children will enjoy the way I have.”

A moment of silence crackled between them.

“You're not fighting for freedom. You're fighting for rich men who want to control the world's fossil fuels. You're fighting because Our Commander In Cheese always wanted a purple heart of his own but is too old to take his own ass out there on a battle field to earn it.”

“Dad,” she snapped, voice like an edged weapon.

“We need you here, not dead on foreign soil. How am I supposed to take care of Bucky on my own with this freaking leg?”

“Don't pull that on me. Don't guilt me. I love my brother, but I also can't live my life around his challenges. The fact that you want me to says more about you as a father than me as a daughter.”

“Rebecca Anne Barnes--”

Bucky slammed the front door behind him. “Dad, get off her back,” he shouted.

Dad hurried into the great room. Becca followed at a slower pace, moving to lean against the door jamb with an unreadable expression.

“I thought you were going out with Steve, Champ.”

“Something came up at his work, but that's not the freaking point. Becca doesn't owe me anything. She doesn't owe you anything. It's not fair to ask her to be my caretaker.”

“You're right. Of course you're right--”

Becca made a disgusted sound behind them. “He's right, but when I say the same damn thing, it turns into a fireworks display.”

“Rebecca--”

They started in on each other again. Bucky could feel a tension headache tightening his temples, and the only thing he could think to do was to shout, “I'm moving to Pleasant Ridge!”

A pin dropping could have been heard in the silence that followed.

“What?” asked George.

“I've made arrangements to move into an assisted care facility up north in Kaneohe City.”

“Son. No. That's not the answer.”

“Bucky, we don't want you to do that.”

“This isn't about you,” he lied through clenched teeth. “It's about needing as much independence as I can get. Steve and I went and visited the place a few weeks back, and it's not a bad environment. The rent's based on income level, so I'll be able to afford it on my salary.”

“But there's no need for that. You'll be living with a bunch of strangers. What happens when you wake up disoriented and I'm not there to remind you that you're safe?” asked Dad. “This isn't a good idea. Whatever is going on between your sister and I, it's not your fault, and you shouldn't have to pay the price by moving away from the environment you're used to.”

“What happens when you die?” asked Bucky into the silence that followed, his voice low and full of pain. “It's gonna happen. One day, you're gonna die. I need to be able to take care of myself. You have to stop coddling me, or I won't be able to take care of myself when the time comes.”

Dad blinked several times and looked out the nearby window. “You're gonna be taken care of Champ. I've made sure of that. I have a life insurance policy. There'll be enough money for you to live well between that and inheriting the house.”

“And Becca? What's she gonna inherit?”

Dad cast his glance toward the floor.

“What's she gonna inherit, Dad? Memories that she wasn't good enough to earn your approval? Memories that you went outta your way to take care of your cripple son while leaving her to fend for herself? Memories that you couldn't look her in the eye and tell her you're fudging proud of her for enlisting to fight for her country? What about Becca, Dad?”

Becca hurried over and knelt beside his chair, moving to curl her fingers around his weaker hand. “Bucky, it's not your job to worry about me.”

“Yes it is. We're family. You're my family, and me being in this wheelchair and having memory problems isn't an excuse not to protect my family.”

They were both quiet for long moments.

“I'm moving to Pleasant Ridge. They finally have a room open. You can either support me or not, but I hope you choose to support me. Because I love you both, and I need you both, and I need you to stop fighting all the time and remember that you're Father and Daughter.”

Becca caved first. “Okay,” she said. “But I'm still gonna visit you as much as I can, and we'll keep in contact when I ship out. You and me to the end of the line, Champ.”

Dad never verbally accepted the move. Bucky could tell he was hurt and concerned, and he wondered if part of that had to do with both his children moving out around the same time. Thing was that it wasn't his job to live his life around his dad's needs anymore than it was theirs to do the opposite. Dad needed to learn to live his own life the same way Bucky did.

But he still turned up on moving day with his jeep ready to haul boxes. Steve came and brought along Sam and Sharon. Alani was there to help carry things since nothing would actually fit in her tiny Mini-Cooper, and Bucky just stopped outside on the lawn and looked at the eclectic collection of people who'd come into his life and smiled.

“What's got you looking so pleased,” asked Alani.

“Just realized how lucky I am is all. Look at all these people. They're good people, and when I needed them, they dropped everything and came. Isn't that freaking profound?”

“You must be having your Age of Enlightenment phase, Mr. Fragnonard.”

Bucky's face lit up. “You remembered.”

“I do sometimes pay attention when you go off on your art tangents.” She kissed his cheek. “Come on, then. We're ready to make a trip to your new place.”

Today would be exhausting enough as it was, so he agreed to let Alani drive and parked his chair in the back, clicking it into place so he wasn't slung around inside the van. Becca rode shotgun with them. Both women kept up the excited chatter through the drive, taking his mind off the massive change his life was undergoing at the moment.

Knowing it was a good move for him and actually going through with it were two different things. Part of him was terrified. It didn't matter that he wouldn't technically be living alone. It only mattered that his main support system would be almost forty minutes away and unable to reach him if he woke in the middle of a crisis. Still, he needed to learn to live without having them nearby.

They arrived and started unloading. Adam Fultz, the lead care manager in Bucky's wing greeted them in the reception area with a warm welcome and led them through the halls and to what would be Bucky's assigned room. It was more of a studio apartment with his bed tucked in a corner near a few windows and a kitchenette dominating the area nearest the door.

One look at Dad told him the man was not happy. The room was fine. Sure, it had worn linoleum on the floor. Maybe the walls were a bit faded and made of painted cinder block. He could hang art to freshen the place up, and the bathroom was already equipped with a standing shower and a built-in chair for ease of access. There was plenty of counter space in the bathroom for his ostomy needs.

He couldn't help being a little hurt when Dad continued to withhold his support. Luckily, Becca, Steve, and Alani stepped in to fill that gap. Steve was an absolute dream. He and Sam moved in the large, comfy sofa Bucky had selected. They positioned the other bits of furniture, allowing him to concentrate on directing Alani and Becca to hang various paintings around the room.

His favorite depicted a sea turtle swimming under the ocean. Behind and above the turtle floated a native Hawaiian child. It was titled “Turtle Won't Play” by the Hawaiian artist, Jane Stewart. His second favorite showed a mother wearing a traditional headdress holding her child against her chest. There was such joy and love in the painting that it made his heart ache with a strange longing for his own mother. Or for his own children.

Once everything was moved in, someone went down the road to a local pizza joint to pick up a bunch of pies, and they all gathered together for dinner and beer. Sharon finally decided to do something about the continued tension between Bucky and his dad.

“Word has it you're blindingly good at the ukelele, Mr. Barnes. Something I'm particularly chuffed to hear. I've been dying to hear someone decent, so I brought this along.” She rooted around in her tote bag and produced one.

“I haven't played in years.”

“Muscle memory should take care of that.”

Reluctantly, his father accepted the instrument and strummed it a few times to check the tuning. He cleared his throat, sat on a the edge of the sofa, and plucked out a melody. Not long after the introduction, his voice joined the chords, gruff as the lyrics to Cats in the Cradle rumbled around them.

Until he got to the verse and sang, “Well, he came from college just the other day, so much like a man I just had to say, 'Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?' He shook his head and he said with a smile, 'What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys. See you later, can I have them please?'”

His dad wasn't one to cry easily, especially not in front of others, so to see the raw emotion in his expression made Bucky reach across the distance separating them and curl his fingers around the man's knee. “You're not losing me.”

“Aren't I?”

“Never.”

He understood then, how vulnerable Dad must feel. His wife had left him with two kids to rear. Now his children were moving out into the world without him. He'd spent so much of his time building his identity around being a dad and a provider and a caretaker that weathering such a huge change with grace would be hard.

Bucky butted his head against his dad's shoulder like a cat begging to be petted. Dad didn't refuse him.

“Did you all hear the good news?” asked Sam.

“About you getting married?” asked Alani. “In that case, yes. We've heard it, like, four times already.”

He gave her a look that said he was unimpressed. “No. Steve's been offered a research grant as part of his thesis track for his masters degree. The Potts Foundation is gonna fund two separate six month long trips to study the effects of global warming and predation amongst native walrus populations.”

“Really?” Bucky twisted around to look at his boyfriend. “Steve, that's incredible! Why didn't you tell me? You're finally gonna finish your masters?”

“Even better, if he completes his masters in the next year and a half, the Oceanic Institute has a position waiting for him.”

“Stevie,” Bucky grabbed his boyfriend's hands. “I'm so proud of you.”

Steve shot Sam a glance that could have contributed to global warming. “Nothing's settled yet. It would require me being gone for a year. A year's a long time to be away from you.”

“Don't worry about me. This is such an incredible opportunity. How can you even think about passing up a chance like this? That's just insane. You get to finish your degree and have a job waiting for you? Don't even think about it; just got for it.”

“Like I said. It's something I need to think about. Weigh my options. Maybe I'm happy working at the aquatic park? It's a good job filled with great people.”

He couldn't understand why Steve even needed to think about it, but it was his life. It wasn't Bucky's place to interfere. And that would have been fine except for the moment Bucky jerked awake in the middle of the night, disoriented by his strange surroundings, and grabbed for his journal.

He wrote, _'Steve is hesitating to accept the research grant and complete his degree because he doesn't want to be away from you for a year. He's going to give up his future to become your caretaker.' That last sentence was underlined twice. 'You can't let him throw everything away for you. Be brave and let him go before he wakes up five years in the future and resents you.'_

***

Bucky, head down and lost in thought, rolled into the art classroom at the youth facility into chaos. Hakim was crouched in a corner, hands over his ears. Cameron, snarling like a rabid dog, was being restrained by Deshawn and Josiah, and Taleek was struggling to keep Nick from hurling himself at the disadvantaged Camera.

“Come on, you fucking Jap. You selling your wolf tickets again? Or you gonna stand there like some mealy-mouthed cockroach?”

Nick snarled and damn near broke free of Taleek's hold. “What you think I am? Some kind of prison wolf? You're the fucker who's fucking that Towel-headed sand rat.” Nick jabbed his chin toward Hakim, who tried covering his head with his forearms.

“Yeah, and what's it to you, you fuck?”

“He was mine first!”

Everything went suddenly calm, as though they'd reached the eye of a hurricane, and Bucky took the opportunity to get himself into the middle of the mess while shooting glares at the wardens who stood outside doing absolutely nothing to calm the situation down.

“Everybody stop.” When they didn't immediately jump to attention, he snapped. “Now!”

They jumped and slowly separated themselves, all except Cameron, who stood like a bull so full of adrenaline he couldn't do anything but shake.

“Cameron, you can either go to your work station, or you can go back to your cell.”

That said, he drove over and managed to get to his feet in order to sink onto his knees next to Hakim where he used soothing words in an effort to calm the terrified youth. Eventually, Hakim uncoiled himself and latched onto Bucky. The youth pressed his face into Bucky's shoulder.

“They were yelling, Teach. They were yelling so bad when they found me in the shower.”

He glared at Cameron and Nick over top of Hakim's head and rocked the boy gently. “It's over now. You're safe. Cameron's a hot-headed fire ball, and Nick doesn't know how to express himself in anything but Keysmash.”

At least it got a snotty chuckle from Hakim.

“I suggest that if either of them really care about you, they should learn something about rape survival and victim trauma. They should learn something about chilling the fudge out and treating you with the kindness and concern you deserve instead of turning to green rage monsters.”

Cameron had the good grace to hang his head. Nick, on the other hand, continued fuming and staring at the wall opposite Bucky and Hakim's location.

“Josiah, Taleek, Deshawn. Thanks for stepping in. I want you all to get started on your paintings from Monday. Remember that we're studying the use of negative space.”

That instruction given, he tried to ease up off the floor, huffed, and managed to get Hakim to sit up straight, at which point, Bucky said, “I think I'm stuck.”

“Teach, you shouldn't be crawling around on the floor like that.”

Hakim helped him back to his feet and into his chair, at which point, he grasped the boy's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Thank you. Will you be okay? Can you return to your painting, or do you need some privacy?”

“I think I'm okay to continue.”

“That's my boy.” He chucked his knuckles under Hakim's chin.

That evening after work, he settled into his sofa with his laptop, peeking over the edge at the bright images on his wall, and smiled. It was quiet, sure, but it was his. His apartment. His sofa. His bed. All earned by his ability to teach a bunch of kids everyone else had given up on.

He accessed the correctional database and looked up Hakim's information. First thing he did was call Hakim's parents. At seventeen, the kid was still technically under their care. Or would have been had he not been arrested with several other members of his gang involved in a the murder of a rival gang member. And if Hakim's father hadn't kicked him out of his home.

Mr. Antoun answered the call, and it didn't take long for Bucky to recognize the man as a traditionalist to whom the very idea of a gay son was as damning as having reared a murderer. Neither would he allow Hakim's mother to come to the phone to speak with Bucky. Bucky resisted the urge to tell the man what he thought of him bare the skin of his teeth.

That avenue closed, he turned instead toward finding someone who might represent Hakim in an appeal to have his sentence overturned. Sentencing a sixteen year old to life without parole because he'd been there when his higher up had committed murder seemed like an extreme sentence.

Following a chain of leads finally put him in touch with a lawyer named Jennifer Walters. They had a long conversation about Hakim's situation, at the end of which, she asked him to send her over his files, suggesting she would take a look and considering doing the work pro bono if there was any sort of racism involved in Hakim's sentencing. A young Syrian man, son to first generation Syrian refugees was a prime target for a bigoted judicial system that routinely destroyed the lives of black youths for minor drug crimes while letting off white kids who committed vehicular manslaughter while driving drunk with eight months of parole.

Content with the chance to help Hakim allowed him to go to bed that night feeling like his day had been well-spent. The problem with Steve still hanged like a pall over his head, but that was a problem for Future Bucky to figure out.

***

He woke the following morning to a screaming headache and no recollection as to where he was or how he'd gotten there. Terrified, he went to jump out of bed. His legs didn't work, so he spilled onto the hard linoleum, landing directly on his stoma. Pain shot through his body. Something in his weak arm felt like it snapped, but flight instinct was still so high he couldn't do anything but scrabble across the floor in the direction of the door.

Moments later, there was a knock at said door.

“Mr. Barnes, it's Adam. Your room monitor indicates you've fallen. Do you need help?”

“Where am I? I don't know where I am?” he cried.

“I'm overriding your door lock and entering your space now. Okay?”

The door beeped. It swung open, and a slim man rushed inside along with two orderlies dressed in scrubs. Adam instructed, “Don't move, okay? Does your head or neck hurt?”

“Yes. Head. My head hearts. And my arm and stomach.”

“We're gonna stabilize your head and neck in case you've fractured anything. Then we're going to turn you onto a backboard. I want you to stay calm and still for me, all right?”

They did as indicated, and he soon found himself staring up at the ceiling and dragging in breaths bordering on hysteria. One of the nurses lifted his shirt. A mixture of blood and feces leaked from a bag attached to his stomach. But he couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? Where was Dad?

“It looks like you may have fallen on your stoma and might have some internal injuries. We're calling an ambulance to take you to the hospital. Is that all right?”

He nodded.


	13. Jane Foster Runs An Anger Management Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes to a decision about his relationship with Steve.

“Look, Steve, I know you love the guy, but if he isn't willing to wait a year in order to progress with your relationship, then he's not the right guy for you. This is your dream. You can't throw away your dream like this. And I'm not trying to say anything bad about Bucky. He's a good kid. But you've gotta think for yourself for once, Man.”

“Sam, just don't.”

“Someone's got to.”

Steve's phone rang. He considered letting it go to voice mail but checked the number just in case. Rebecca's name flashed on the screen. “I've gotta take this.”

Turning away, he answered the call. “Hi, Becca. What's up?”

“Bucky was just rushed to the hospital. He fell out of bed this morning. We don't know what the damage is yet. Right now, he's in stable condition, but they're giving him a CT to make sure his stoma wasn't injured in the fall. It's also possible he broke his weak arm.”

“Fucking shit.” Steve put a hole in the drywall. “Fuck, which hospital?”

“They've taken him to Hawaii State.”

“I'm on my way. I'll be here as soon as I can.”

“Okay, but drive safely.”

He ended the call. 

Sam, bless him, immediately grabbed his jacket. “I'm no letting you drive when you're this upset. And you're fixing that hole in the drywall when you find out he's gonna be all right.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“I love you, you stupid gargoyle. Whether or not we're pissed at each other.”

Everyone else had gathered by the time they arrived at the hospital. Even Anna Ikaika and Sophie had turned up and were holding onto a sobbing Alani, who, for some reason, immediately plastered herself to Steve's chest as soon as he rounded the corner. He didn't hesitate to close his arms around her.

“Any word?”

George limped over. “The CT scan was just finished. It'll be a little while before we get any results, though. The X-ray on his arm hasn't even been done yet. A possible injury to the stoma is more important to diagnose.”

“Shit. Fuck, why did this have to happen?” He pressed his cheek into the crown of Alani's head.

“Because--”

“Don't,” Steve warned. “Don't blame this on him wanting to live independently.”

“This is what you tried to warn me about that one night, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because your son deserves his privacy. Because he's not a child who needs to clear it with his dad if he wants to move out of the house.”

“I'm about sick of your condescension, Son.”

Steve pushed Alani into Sam's arms in order to snap to attention and snarl, “I am not your son. My father was a drunk fuck who couldn't be assed to be there when I was born. Do not presume to bully me because you're having a hard time letting go.”

“You have no right--”

“I'm gonna marry him; I have every right!”

Another pin dropped.

“I'm the man who's gonna marry your son. I'm the man who's gonna have a family with your son. Twenty years from now, we're gonna stop by your house and drop off your grandchildren so we can have a date night. Maybe forty years from now, you'll be there when your great grandchildren are born and we become grandfathers ourselves.

“You're the man whose good intentions will keep him from his future because you're wallowing in guilt for having been behind the wheel when the accident happened. Get over it. Let your son evolve. Let him live his life. Be there to hold his hand when the rocky moments happen. Be there to help him pick up the pieces when we get in a stupid fight over who left toothpaste stains in the sink.

“But don't you dare tell that man that he's not allowed to have normal.”

Somewhere, someone slow-clapped.

It took him a minute to realize it was Rebecca, who was apparently returning from the ER department into the waiting rooms. “You better get him a nice ring. Don't fuck this up, Rogers.”

George, meanwhile, looked like he'd been gutted and retreated to sit in the corner, nursing a cup of coffee. The man looked totally lost. Not even Leolani sitting with him while the two had a quiet conversation could lift the veil of hurt and emptiness in the man's eyes.

The waiting room was tense following Steve's outburst. Sharon sat beside him holding his hand. Alani's family tended to George, finally getting him vocal again. Several nurses who'd worked with Bucky during his recovery from the accident came by to offer their support.

Eventually, a doctor arrived and called for the family of Bucky Barnes. Guy probably wasn't expecting to be charged by an entire herd of people. It was a sight to behold, that was for sure.

He urged the back into their seats and pulled a chair closer to their little area. “So. The radiologist has had a chance to read the CT results. Looks like Buck's stoma isn't damaged. There's some superficial bleeding from the initial fall, but he didn't sustain any internal damage. We just need to keep an eye on the surface tears, keep them clean, make sure the fecal matter that drains from that area doesn't cause an infection or further irritate the skin.”

Steve sagged back into his chair.

The doctor continued, “Also, X-rays show his arm isn't broken, but there's definitely some damage going on inside. I suspect a proximal rupture of a tendon in his bicep. There's a couple of things we can do for that. First, we allow it to heal naturally. He'll lose about twelve percent of normal strength in that arm. Usually, that loss is acceptable compared to the risks of surgery.”

George shook his head. “That arm is already weakened from the accident.”

“Then our second option is to surgically repair the tendon. Mind you, these are all treatments I've already discussed with Bucky. We'll go ahead and admit him overnight for observation, and if he chooses to go with surgery, we'll have our surgeon ready to consult with him.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said.

“Can we see him?” asked Steve.

Becca was the one who spoke up. “He doesn't remember you right now and hasn't had a chance to go through his journal. I'm not saying you can't see him. Just be aware. I'll go back with you and introduce you to help smooth the way.”

Becca pushed aside the curtain in Bucky's room first, leaving Steve to linger near the doorway to avoid smothering his boyfriend, who looked pale and exhausted. Seeing the man he loved lying in a hospital bed looking so fragile turned his stomach, and it struck him suddenly that despite the wheelchair, despite the weakened arm, despite the vulnerable moments they'd shared changing Bucky's bag, the man had never before seemed diminished. 

He smiled when the man looked up to meet his gaze, surprised when Bucky seemed to accept Becca's introduction without difficulty. Rather, Bucky extended a hand. Steve rushed forward to accept it.

“I'm sorry. I don't remember. Becca says you're Steve, and we've been dating for a while?”

“Yeah, Beautiful.” Steve kissed Bucky's knuckles.

Bucky managed to tiny smile that frightened the pallor of his skin. “Least I have good taste in beefcakes, huh?”

Something tightened in Steve's stomach hearing that familiar endearment. The number of times Bucky had forgotten him only to refer to him as a beefcake gave him hope that maybe some part of their relationship was beginning to take hold into Bucky's longer term memories. Maybe some point in the future, Bucky wouldn't forget him every time his memories reset.

“I don't know about that. I'm just a kid from Brooklyn.”

He risked cupping Bucky's jaw, thumb tracing patterns across the man's cheekbone as he gazed down into that beloved face. They shared a quiet moment, Bucky a little reserved, Steve only imagining the amount of sap bleeding through his expression. Someone could make him into a bottle of Aunt Jamima, he was sure.

A little while later, Sharon knocked on the door and stuck her head around the curtain. “Hey, Squirt. You're looking a little rough around the edges. You feeling any better?”

Bucky perked up. “Hi, Sharon.”

Steve reared backward slightly, glancing back and forth between Bucky and Sharon.

Sharon looked like she'd been kicked by a goat. “That's my name; don't wear it out.”

“Thanks for coming. That's good of you.”

“I always feel awkward being thanked for doing what any decent person should do. Saying 'your welcome' implies I came to see you in order to be thanked. Not responding at all is rude. So I'll simply say it is my pleasure.

“Steve, I have to head out now. Something came up and Luis needs me down at the truck,” she continued after turning her attention to Steve.

“That's fine. Sam will take me home later. Thanks for being-- Yeah, you just addressed that.”

***

Steve's knee bobbed up and down with nervous energy.

“I wouldn't read too much into it,” Dr. Barton was saying. “Bucky remembering Sharon is an anomaly, but the brain often reacts in unexpected ways. His scans, though, continue to show no improvement to the synapses in his hippocampus. I'm sorry. I know that's not the news you want to hear.”

George and Becca sagged back in their seats.

Steve surged to his feet to pace the office. “Why Sharon, though? Why not me? I spend a lot more time with him than her. Why would his brain choose to react to her when it hasn't to me?”

“That must be disappointing,” Dr. Barton said, “but there's no reason to correlate the anomaly with how much he cares about either of you. Him recalling her doesn't mean he cares more about her. It could be something as simple as she's similar to someone from his pre-accident memories, making it easier for him to recall face and name.”

“It's not fair!” He kicked the trash can on his next pass.

“Steve,” Becca intoned.

“No, it's not fair. Nothing about this is fair. It's sure as Hell not fair that this vibrant kid was suddenly consigned to a wheelchair for the rest of his natural life. It sure as Hell isn't fair that he has to endure so much hardship. It's not fair to the people who love him who have to watch him suffer.

“But life isn't fair. Feel what you're feeling. Get it out of your system, and find a way to process because being a caregiver is one of the toughest and most under-appreciated jobs on this planet. If you're really in this for the long haul, you have to find a way to deal with the stress or you'll wind up burning out on Bucky when he needs you most.”

Steve's shoulders stooped. He raked fingers through his hair and dropped into his seat.

“I'm going to recommend a support group for caregivers. All of you could use some good coping strategies. You'll meet people in similar situations and be able to share tips and have like-minded people to decompress with.” He jotted down a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Steve.

“Thanks for taking the time to speak with us, Doctor Barton,” Becca said as she stood to shake hands.

“I understand you'll be deploying soon,” Clint commented.

“Yeah. In three weeks.”

“Then I think it's a good idea that George and Steve get some couples counseling.”

Both men stopped in their tracks to stare at each other like deer in headlights.

“Look, it's obvious the two of you aren't getting along as well as you might, and it's imperative you learn how to be a tight-knit base which Bucky can lean against. You can't do that if you're at each other's throats. A couples therapist can help you work through your differences and come up with a strategy for working together.”

“I'm willing to do whatever it takes,” George said.

Steve was a few seconds slower to respond. “Me too.”

Which was how George Barnes and Steve Rogers found themselves inside a therapy office together nearly tearing each other's faces off over their fundamental differences in helping Bucky. George erred on the side of coddling. Steve always came down on the side of giving Bucky freedom to make his own choices. How they were going to bridge that gap was an absolute mystery.

They made zero progress that first session and came out of the office glaring daggers at one another where Becca met them with George's jeep. She rolled her eyes, took them by their ears, and marched them down the sidewalk to an ice cream parlor for some soft serve and sprinkles to soothe their wounded egos. Funny how Steve had gotten along with George better than Becca at the start.

Their standoff showed no signs of ending until they attended their first support group meeting together. It took place in a virtual reality environment from the comfort of the Barnes residence. They plugged in their VR headgear into a special console the support group administrators had sent and found themselves inside a meeting room sitting in a circle of chairs.

The couple running the session introduced themselves as Donald Blake and Jane Foster.

“I know you,” Steve exclaimed completely out of turn. He had the good grace to feel sheepish. “Sorry. You're Dr. Foster. You created Foster Transfer.”

“Wait, are you the Steve Rogers?” she asked.

“Astrophysics geekery in three, two, one...” Donald counted down to zero.

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, I am such a fan! You made the first space jump to Mars with Foster Transfer. I was there when you went into the Rainbow Bridge. This is so amazing. I didn't think I'd ever get to meet you face to face. Or rather, virtual reality to virtual reality. I've never made a jump that far before. What was it like? There are so many things I want to ask you.”

“Is it okay if I give you my number? We can continue this after group?”

“Totally. Sorry class. This is a real American hero.”

Donald elbowed her in the ribs.

Steve's shoulders sank, and he felt like crawling inside his own skin.

Donald managed to stop Jane's enthusiastic introduction by talking over her, saying, “We'll get started with group now. Today, we have three new members. Let's everyone introduce ourselves.”

Everyone went around the circle and made introductions, explaining a little bit about the person they were the caretaker for. Steve let Becca and George handle what information they put out about Bucky's condition, and since he was still recovering from being outed as Captain America, he didn't say much.

Some people really had it bad; he could tell. Misty Knight's husband, Danny, suffered from locked in syndrome following severe damage to his brain stem during a martial arts competition. The man could only communicate with eye movements, and she seemed on the cusp of reaching her breaking point.

What really hit home, though, was being introduced to Luke and Jessica Cage, whose daughter had been born premature and was still in the NICU two months following her birth. They didn't open their mouths except to snarl at each other. Jessica was convinced that Luke not visiting the hospital as often as she thought necessary meant he didn't care enough. Luke accused Jessica of not thinking for herself and instantly believing everything the doctors told her.

Theirs was clearly an unhealthy dynamic. Steve could feel the dysfunction rotting between them and suddenly realized that his relationship with Bucky was doomed if he didn't find a way to get along with George Barnes. Coming between Father and Son wasn't happening. If ultimatums were given, he was under no delusion that Bucky would pick him over his own father. Neither did he want to put Bucky through the stress of dealing with a toxic environment.

So at their next counseling session, both men finally learned how to bend before breaking. They opened up to their therapist for the first time and exchanged a productive dialogue about getting on the same page with regards to helping Bucky have a full and normal life. Which wasn't to say there wouldn't continue to be friction; there would be. They would just hopefully handle it better.

After their session, they made their way to Pleasant Ridge together without killing one another, pausing outside the door to Bucky's studio apartment so Steve could shuffle bags of take out around to get the spare key Bucky had given him. He unlocked the door and started to crack it open.

“Have you made your decision about you research project?”

“I have. I'm not taking it. I'll drop my masters program and continue working at the aquatic center, at least until Bucky's in a more stable position. Once his memories start getting better, maybe I can revisit the idea of graduate school.”

“Steve, you were there when Barton said he's probably not going to get better.”

“He's remembering Sharon. Things come easier to him when his memories reset now. It doesn't take him as long to weave himself into our relationship anymore. You might not see the progress, but it's there. He's going to get better, and if I leave now, we'll lose all that progress.”

George didn't press the issue.

Steve opened the door and stepped inside to find Bucky sitting up on the sofa with his arm propped on pillows. Said arm was mummified in bandages from his recent operation to repair the ruptured tendon. Something tense flashed across his boyfriend's features before hiding behind a bright smile.

“You brought Chinese!”

***

“I thought Sharon was a Bohemian,” Bucky said while they waited in line for the zipline at Kualoa Ranch up north on Oahu. The ranch had recently upgraded their zip lines to be accessible for the disabled, and he'd thought Bucky needed a treat after recently recovering from surgery on his arm.

Standing in line just in front of them, Becca and Sharon were engaged in a heated debate over the merits of various sidearms. Because that was totally a normal conversation for a food truck owner.

Steve grinned. “Sharon's aunt is the Peggy Carter.”

“No shit.”

“First ever female chief of the Secret Intelligence Service,” bragged Steve.

“If he had a single shot at her, Steve would be cheating on you with my aunt.”

“I would not!”

Sharon nodded and mouthed “He so would.”

Bucky laughed.

“I do have an unrequited crush on her, though.”

“Well who wouldn't?” asked Bucky.

“Right?”

Sharon returned her attention to Becca. “Seriously. Nothing beats the L42A1 for sheer dependability. It was in service for fifteen years and took over as the greatest example of rear locking action.”

“That's great and all, but our new breed of rifle systems have much better range and firing time. Take the SR-25. I'd wager money that it can out-shoot the L42A1 in any scenario.”

“Bah. American egotism at its finest.”

“It isn't ego if it's true,” Becca fired back.

For a moment, it looked like the girls might come to blows over their difference of opinion, but they soon burst into laughter, Becca draping her arm over Sharon's shoulders to give her a quick hug.

“Now that Buck's in a better place, I plan on enlisting full time. There are several pilot programs allowing women to take sniper training. Up until recently, women who passed the training were then rotated back to their original support roles which completely sucks. If a woman can pass the requirements, why the Hell can't she serve on the front lines?”

“Patriarchal bullshit,” responded Sharon.

“Hoo-freaking-ah. Anyway, there were a couple of female snipers in Afghanistan who managed to get some action on the front lines. Also, I assume you've heard of the Russian snipers, women like Lady Death who served in elite sniper squads all over the Soviet front lines.”

“Of course. Lyudmila Pavlichenko.”

“She toured the US after retiring from active combat to train other snipers. Reporters kept asking her absurd questions about hair, fashion, and make up until she finally had enough and said 'Gentlemen, I'm twenty-five years old and have killed three hundred nine fascist occupants. Don't you think, Gentlemen, that you have been hiding behind my back for too long?'”

Bucky piped up and said to Steve, “My sister is amazing.”

“She is,” he agreed.

When it was their turn on the zip line, Steve carried Bucky up the stairs of the tower where a light chair awaited him. He settled his boyfriend there to allow the zip line operators to strap Bucky into a specialized harness that better supported his body. Then they attached the harness to the cable stretching between the two towers.

The operator went through a brief instruction guide. Bucky wouldn't need to brake himself. People at the receiving tower would do the braking for him, and Becca, Sharon, and George waited at he other tower to help him down the stairs into back into a manual wheelchair.

“You ready for this, Buck?” asked Steve.

“Oh, I am so ready. Let's do this.”

Operators allowed Steve to help Bucky off the edge of the tower. From there, gravity did the work. Buck went zipping down the line with a squeal of delight, and Steve, being the smitten kitten that he was, couldn't wipe the grin off his face over hearing his boyfriend's joy. The days of apathy seemed far behind him on days like today.

Once Bucky was clear of the line, Steve got into his own harness to make the trip across. It provided a beautiful view of the countryside and glimpses at some of the filming locations for the Jurassic movies. Exhilaration pumped adrenalin through his system, and by the time he jogged down the stairs, he didn't hesitate to lift Bucky from his chair, pull the man into his arms, and kiss him silly.

Today was going to be the day, he told himself. Today, he would ask Bucky to marry him. He could feel the rightness in the air.

They went on several more zip lines. Bucky's favorite was naturally the one with the highest elevation. George wasn't so keen on the idea and wound up skipping that one to avoid his fear of heights, but to his credit, he didn't attempt to talk his son out of going on it. 

Luis threw up all over Sam's shoes.

“Reminds me of my third cousin's brother's wedding reception. Ángel married this sweet, sweet Spanish guy named Allen and held their reception at an adorable night club on the coast of Spain. They served these cocktails they called Homo Angelicas served in these cute cocktail glasses. It tasted really good, you know. Course nothing was more adorable than the way Allen and Ángel couldn't take their eyes off each other when Allen was walking down the aisle to meet his soon-to-be-husband. They had real violins playing the wedding march, you know--”

“Skip the details,” Sam complained.

“So my third cousin, Juan, told his brother, Miguel to tell Ángel that he might want to keep an eye on Allen, who was knocking back Homo Eroticas like they were cotton candy, but Ángel thought it was totally cute the way his husband was looking at up at him with his adorable Spanish eyes and lost count of how many Allen had drank. Next thing you know, Allen yawns in technicolor all over Ángel's dress shoes, and they're carrying him up to the honeymoon suite where he spent the night in the bathtub.”

Bucky cracked up and nearly fell on his ass while transferring back to his manual wheelchair where he wound up dropping into Steve's arms. “That is not the way to spend your wedding night.”

“Wait, aren't Ángel and Allen gay porn stars?” asked Sam.

“How would you know that?” Steve teased.

“Shut up, Blockhead,” Sam fired back.

“Make me, Bird Brain.”

“Not with your boyfriend in your arms.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Sam winked.

After the zip lines, they piled onto a vintage bus with another tour group and headed out to see some of the various filming locations scattered around the ranch. Bucky insisted on getting their pictures taken at the fallen tree where Grant and the kids hid while the T-Rex hunted and fed on flocking gallimimus.

Dinner at the ranch's gourmet restaurant followed their day of fun activities. Everyone finished their desserts and went out onto the back deck to watch the sunset together, and that was when Steve rolled his boyfriend's chair far enough away from everyone to give them some privacy.

Bucky's smile was beautiful. It was full of warmth and tenderness.

That more than anything gave him the courage to sink down onto one knee, hand fishing through the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a small, velvet bag.

Earnest, he presented the ring inside to Bucky. 

“Bucky Barnes, I know our relationship is unconventional, but that's okay. I'm unconventional. You came into my life like a ray of sunshine and cast away the darkness I'd been mired in for so long. You make me happy, and I hope that you can say the same thing, that I make you happy.

“What I want most out of life is to spend each day making you fall in love with me all over again. It's to share with you another ten thousand first kisses. I want to love you on your bad days and adore you on you good days. Will you make me the happiest I've ever been? Will you marry me?”

Bucky's eyes flooded with tears. Fat drops spilled past his lashes to wash his cheeks with salt, but something was wrong.

Steve could tell something was wrong even before Bucky opened his mouth.

“Steve. God.” Jaw clenching, his boyfriend looked away from him and out over a pond on which the sun cast shades of red and orange. “Steve, I want to marry you. More than anything.”

Relief and hope flooded his system. “Well, then there's no problem. Let me just...” He reached for Bucky's hand to slip the engagement ring on his finger only for Bucky's fingers to curl tightly against his own palm, effectively preventing the action. 

“I can't marry you.”

It was like a gunshot had gone off nearby.

Breathless, he whispered, “Why not?”

“Because I'm breaking up with you.”

Another discharge cracked the atmosphere.

“Why?”

“You've gotta accept that research grant. Go live your dreams. You've gotta get your masters, take that job at the Oceanic Institute. Live your life. You can't do that if you're tied to me.”

An ember caught in the dry brush of his inner life. “It's my life,” he spat. “If I wanna live it with you, that's my prerogative. It's not for you to decide what I need.”

“Maybe, but you need my cooperation to walk down that aisle. If you marry me, you'll wake up one day realizing what you gave up. Then what happens? Resentment sets in. Maybe one day you wake up hating me. Then it ends in divorce and broken hearts.”

“Jesus, Buck, what kinda person do you take me for?”

“The self-sacrificing type. You're always sacrificing yourself to make sure others get the easier road. Steve. Beefcake, I love you so, so much, but I'm not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“What about that experimental trial Clint was talking about?” he asked, reaching for his last Hail Mary.

“Have you seen the side effects? Cancer, Steve. I read the case studies. An alarming percentage of the recipients either developed brain cancer or underwent some form of psychotic breakdown. I love you, but I'm the one who's gotta live my life. I'm not exposing myself to those kinds of side effects on the off chance it might improve my memory.”

So that was it, then, and Hell, he couldn't blame Bucky. Cancer and psychological disorders were nothing to take lightly. It didn't sting that he wasn't willing to risk that for their relationship, but the alternative was overwhelming.

“We've come through so many challenges. Now you're just gonna throw it away because you're afraid for my future?” A wild swing from anger toward heartache lodged a knot of emotion in his throat. “Please, don't do this. We can work it out.”

But the decision had been made, and Bucky hardened his expression. He became stoic, emotionless, cold, a look completely foreign on a man who naturally radiated warmth and sunshine. “I was gonna wait to tell you until the middle of the week after your interview with that astrophysics journal Dr. Foster hooked you up with. The decision has already been made. We're over.”

Desperation crept under Steve's skin, prompting him to try one last time. “You'll just forget we had this conversation overnight. I'll come over tomorrow. We'll have a redo and another first kiss.”

“No, we won't.”

“It's worked pretty well for me so far.”

“Tonight I'm going through my journals and excising you from it. There won't be any reminders of us for you to leverage in order to win me back. I'd like the key to my apartment back now.”

“So you'll just forget me,” he snarled. “Bang. Just like that. You get to escape the pain of dumping your boyfriend while I'm the one left behind to suffer the consequences of your actions. Last time I checked, I don't have a fancy machine to burn memories from my brain.”

“And I hate that it's gotta be that way. I really do, but forgetting you is the only way to make sure I don't cave. My key, please.”

Anger swelled back into the gulf left behind by his relationship with Bucky. Yanking his key ring from his pocket, he worked the studio key free and tossed it onto the decking at his ex-boyfriend's feet. A muscle in Steve's jaw clenched. He looked deeply into the other man's eyes.

“I was gonna have a family with you,” he said. “A house. The white picket fence. Three kids. The whole nine yards. That's what you don't get, Barnes. Getting my masters was just an idea, a means to an end so we could start a life together, so I could provide for you and our kids.”

“Steve...”

“No, you've said your piece. You can goddamn listen to me fucking say mine. You get to escape the pain of breaking up with me, but for the rest of the day, I want you to live with the knowledge that I won't get my masters. I won't take that job at the institute. Just to fucking spite you. Here. This was our future.” He turned his palm and allowed the engagement ring to thunk against the decking. 

“Steve, please. Don't ruin your life just to spite me.” Tears finally cracked Bucky's exterior. “I know it hurts right now, but you mean so much to me.”

“Bullshit. If I meant anything to you, you wouldn't be able to sit there and break my heart.”

Spinning on a heel, he stormed away, ignoring Sam shouting after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for the angst, but it would be insincere.


	14. Hope Van Dyne:  Career Counselor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Bucky's decision to break up with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the only chapter that shifts point of view inside the chapter.

Bucky's mask lasted only so long as it took the dust trail of Steve's jeep swirling behind the vehicle as he tore out of the parking lot to settle. People had begun to suspect something was wrong the moment Steve had taken off like a bat out of Hell, but they didn't have any real idea until Bucky burst into tears.

Breaking up with Steve had been the single-hardest thing he'd ever done. The look on his ex-boyfriend's face would haunt him for the rest of his life, that gutted, hollow look that said everything had been ripped from him at once.

He buried his face in his hands. Moments later, warm arms folded around him. His father's concerned voice asked what was wrong. Becca smoothed back his hair. Alani asked who needed killing.

Steve's friends were freaking out, Sam running toward the parking lot to go after Steve and try to cut him off so he wouldn't wreck and hurt himself, and oh God, Bucky hadn't thought of that before breaking things off. What if Steve was too upset to drive and wound up dying in a car accident? It would be his fault. He would have killed Steve as surely as if he'd held a gun to his head.

Eventually, he took a deep enough breath to say something coherent. “He asked me to marry him, but I broke up with him instead.”

“Why?” asked Alani. “You love Steve.”

“He was going to give up everything for me. I couldn't let him do that. Fuck, it hurts so much. I want to go home. Please, someone take me home.”

“Okay,” Dad crooned. “We'll get you home.”

Bucky dared peek through his fingers while Becca wheeled him out toward their line of cars. Sharon and Luis watched him in various states of anger and pity. They were Steve's friends first and foremost, so he didn't blame them. He'd be pissed too if someone had treated Alani the way he'd treated Steve.

All he could think to say was, “I'm sorry. Please take care of him.”

“We will,” Sharon said before climbing into a car with Luis.

He didn't remember much of the ride home, and while Dad and Becca insisted he come back to the house for the night, he still had things to do. They eventually agreed to drop him off at his studio as long as Becca stayed the night, which was fine. He would need her help to erase Steve from his life.

Inside, they curled up on the sofa with his various journals and started the process, transferring old entries into a new journal that wouldn't contain anything of Steve Rogers. He'd considered for about a nanosecond asking Steve to help with the process, but that would have been beyond cruel. He was grateful, though, that Becca was willing to help without lecturing him. She just accepted his decision.

Each one of those entries that contained Steve was precious. The night he'd first allowed Steve to help him change his ostomy bag. When they'd first made love. Pictures from their Washington DC trip. Ticket stubs from a music festival they'd attended together. The last few months of Bucky's life had been filled with Steve Rogers. Separating those threads seemed so easy. _Tear out the page. Wad it up. Toss it in a garbage can. Move on to the next._ By morning, his slate would be blank.

Erasing it seemed too easy for having been such a profound time in his life.

But the hardest entry to erase, the one he secretly wanted to stash away somewhere so he could wake from his nightmares and clutch it to his chest, was the first journal entry he'd ever written about Steve.

_'Got to go to the beach for PT today. It's so much more interesting than doing it at the office. Plus, Namor's pretty easy on the eyes in his little Speedo. There was a guy there today. God, I wanted to swoon when I saw him. He came to my defense when a bunch of teens were making fun of me. No one's ever done that before except my friends._

_Thing is, there was something about this guy that really stood out. He looked so sad and lost. The way he stared out at the ocean made me want to give him a great big hug and tell him that things couldn't possibly be as bad as all that._

_I hope he's there again during my next session. Maybe I'll work up the courage to go up to him and introduce myself. Put my swagger on. Be all 'Hi, I'm Bucky Barnes. If you were a fruit, you'd be a Fineapple.' On second thought, that probably sounds better in my head._

_Wish me luck, Journal!'_

Tearing out that page felt like tearing out a piece of himself, but he forced his hands to comply, wadded up the sheet, and tossed it in the garbage bag Becca held open. By the time he was done going through his journals—there were some entries in his teaching journal containing Steve, too—snot and tears dripped off his chin. He blew his nose on the tissue Becca handed him and leaned into her to bury his face in the comfort of her chest.

When he woke in the morning, he couldn't remember the accident, couldn't remember his legs didn't work, couldn't remember Steve Rogers, couldn't remember that for the past few months, he'd been happier than he'd ever been.

***

Steve didn't actually drive all the way home. He looked in his rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of Sam's car speeding after him. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have ignored him, let his roommate chase him down the highway until the cops pulled them over or they got home, but he wasn't actually stupid, and he didn't actually have a death wish, so when the road blurred from the tears, he pulled onto the shoulder.

Desperation spilled him from the door where he rested hands upon knees and vomited on the side of the highway. The contents of his stomach soured in the afternoon sun. Bile burned his nose and throat.

It wasn't enough; it wasn't near enough to vent the pain and anger boiling away at his insides, so he threw his shoulders back and keened, the sound of a man mourning for a lost loved one. What else was he in that moment but a man mourning for a lost loved one?

The thing was he could probably worm himself back into Bucky's life. Knowing what he knew about Bucky, it wouldn't even be hard. All it would take was knocking on the guy's door one morning. Maybe if he showed up at the jail and ambushed him. George couldn't watch Bucky constantly.

Trouble was that every instinct he possessed railed against the idea of moving counter to Bucky's expressed wishes. It would feel too much like assault knowing he didn't have the man's consent. 

So it was over. Months of happiness. Gone. Flushed down the drain by a fucking accident that had damaged Bucky's hippocampus. And Steve was left to flounder in powerful rip tides pulling him farther and farther out to sea. Cut adrift. Unmoored. Lost.

Because what he'd said to Bucky was true. The only reason he'd had the gumption to apply for graduate school was out of a desire to provide financially for the man he hoped would be his husband and their kids. A masters degree had always been an illusive concept existing somewhere in the ether and hadn't become enough of a priority to actively pursue until his relationship with Bucky.

Without Bucky? There was just no point.

Nearby, tires crunched onto the shoulder. A car door opened and closed. Moments later, a warm hand clenched on his shoulder. “Steve, Man. God, I'm so sorry.”

He didn't turn into Sam's comfort. He stared out across the landscape instead.

Eventually, he asked, “Why're you sorry? You got what you want. I'm free to live my life.”

“Jesus, Steve, not at the expense of your happiness. Not like this. I know you, Man. The chances of you taking that research grant now are slim to none. You'll bury yourself in work the way you did before Bucky. I hated why you made the decision and thought you could work around it, but I hate even more that you're hurting.”

“I just want to go home.”

“Yeah, Man. Look, I'm not letting you drive in this condition. Sharon and Luis are right behind us. When they get here, Sharon can drive your car back, and you'll ride with me.”

He nodded his acceptance of the compromise.

It was late by the time they got in. Steve had cried most of his tears in the passenger seat of Sam's vehicle, so he was left with a sense of numbness and a raging headache. He popped four Advil, crawled into bed, and prayed to anyone listening that he could wake in the morning without memories of Bucky Barnes dopey smile and sleep-mussed hair.

***

Bucky flipped through his journal ahead of class while waiting for the kids to arrive. According to his teaching journal, they all came off KP duty at the same time and couldn't head toward his classroom until the guards had finished wrangling them together. It meant he had a spare few minutes.

His fingers stilled in flipping pages. He turned back to a page before. Something felt like it was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on it. There was a gap between the two entries. One described going to the beach for PT. The next dealt with cajoling Namor into stopping for milkshakes.

Something lurked right on the edges of his consciousness like a word hovering on the tip of his tongue that dissipated before it could become vocal. It was frustrating.

Luckily, the kids poured into class before he could get lost in the maze of his brain, and he glanced up at them with a smile. A quick consult of his work journal explained the tension between Nick and Cameron. Nick's internalized homophobia was well-documented in his notes. Last time they'd met, Nick'd had something of a breakthrough in allowing himself to admit that he had a crush on Hakim.

Unfortunately, Hakim was in a semi-monogamous relationship with Cameron, which put Cameron and Nick on opposite sides. Hakim took matters into his own hands, though, and moved his work station toward the back of the class to take up residence between Deshawn and Josiah.

Bucky moved his wheelchair around the desk. “How was everybody's weekend.”

“We're in prison, Teach. Ain't nobody's weekend nothing to write home about,” Taleek responded.

“Guess not. Today, we're going to create an Emotion Wheel. Yours will look something like this.” He held up a mock-up he'd made last night. A circle filled a page and was broken into eight different sections like a pie chart. Each section represented an emotion and corresponding color. 

“Then I want you to break into pairs, because we're gonna do a group project. We're going to identify what emotion you're feeling in various scenarios, and the pair of you will come up with a comic book skit for how the scenario could play out depending on your emotions. Your main color theme will be the emotion you chose at the start of each scenario.”

After a few more grumbles, the kids moved toward the supply closet and settled into their work, allowing Bucky to move around the classroom and watch them or stop to have a few private words here and there. The progress the kids had made since the start of their classes was immense. He could see it in their quality of work and notice it in the speed with which they could process critical thinking skills.

He rolled up next to Hakim, and the kid looked away with a blush.

“What is it?”

“A lawyer came by last week to talk about my case. She said you were in contact with her.”

“That's right.”

“It's just... Nobody's ever cared like that, Teach. Nobody's ever...” The kid swallowed thickly.

“You deserve to be cared about. You're not a bad person, Hakim. I don't care what anyone's told you. You're a kid who was put into an impossible situation who wound up with the wrong influences.”

“Thanks.”

He knew better than to touch Hakim despite the desire to chafe his palm up and down the kid's back, so he smiled, bumped his shoulder against the guy's hip, and rolled past to continue to the next student.

Taleek steadily worked with watercolors, which was such a contrast to the kid's personality. His artwork was soft and elegant. His exterior was hard and abrasive as evidenced by the tight strain of his jaw. Something new lurked on the surface, though. A small tattoo had been placed behind Taleek's ear that depicted the number '21.' Three dots now adorned his wrist.

Bucky didn't want to believe it, but they were evidence that Taleek had moved to become a member of the USO Family, the same prison gang responsible for putting Hakim in the hospital. Thinking about one of his kids getting deeper into the lifestyle made him sick, but when he attempted to broach the topic with Taleek after class, the guy shut him down and warned him to stay out of it.

He didn't intend on staying out of it. Those were his kids. He would fight for them and their future as long as it took. His conviction lasted until the following week when several men loitered around his van, each bearing tattoos labeling them as USO members, and God, how had he forgotten that a prison gang didn't mean membership was confined to the inside of a prison? It was enough to scare him into dropping his attempts to convince Taleek to rethink his affiliation with the gang.

Taleek approached him during their next class and said, “Stay out of it, Teach. You been good to me. I don't want you getting hurt, but you keep pushing, and they'll hurt you.”

Bucky nodded once. In his vulnerable position, there was little he could do should anyone from the USO Family decide to jump him. While he hated what was in store for Taleek, the reality was that he wouldn't, couldn't save everyone.

That afternoon brightened considerably, though, when Deshawn stayed behind after class.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Phelps?”

“Just wanna let you know I'll be getting outta here soon. They're letting me out on parole in a couple of weeks. I was wondering if I could maybe still come to class?”

“Yes! Of course. I'm so excited for you, Deshawn. Let me talk to the warden, see if I can make arrangements to let you into the building during class times. Will you have transportation? I can get you a bus pass so you can take the bus out here if needs be.”

“A bus pass'd be great.”

“Next week, then. I should have everything in place by then. Will you have a place to stay?”

“My ma's gonna let me come home. Long as I keep my nose clean.”

“Good. You're gonna make it, Deshawn. Of all my kids here, I have the most hope for your future. Just stay away from the drugs, concentrate on getting your education, and you can be anything you want. Don't be afraid to use support groups, either. There are a lot of good groups out there who can help you stay on the right track.”

Deshawn grinned. “No one never said that to me before, Mr. Bee.”

“Which part?”

“That I can be anything I wanna.”

“It's true. There will be a lot of obstacles and a lot of people trying to tell you no, but you can't let them. You keep pushing until somewhere a door opens.”

Deshawn left with more spring in his step than Bucky had ever seen, and Bucky went about tidying the classroom before leaving the correctional facility. Thankfully, there were not gang members lurking around his vehicle that day. He drove himself home only to be hit with a hollow feeling when he arrived, like something inside his space was missing.

***

Steve's alarm pulled him from the abyss of sleep. His nightly prayer to wake without being tortured by memories of Bucky Barnes remained unanswered, as evidenced by the hollow ache in the center of his chest. Steve Rogers never got to take the easy way out.

He grabbed his phone. Pulled up his contacts. Using his thumb, he scrolled through to highlight Bucky's name. The screen sat idle on the phone number as he worked through his desire to call Bucky, to somehow fight for what they'd had. Even after two weeks separation, the desire was still there.

He swiped back to the home screen instead before climbing from bed to shower and dress for work. Sam and Sharon remained unusually quiet during their morning ritual. They moved around him rather than barreling through him to get to the coffee machine, and neither dared ask how he was doing. That would have been a silly question; He was going through Hell. Still.

Sam and he rode into work together, and Steve spent the morning catching up on paperwork in the sanctuary of his office. All the letters wound up blurring together, so he propped his chin on an upraised palm and stared into the blue of the beluga whale enclosure. 

Kuno had come to their facility as a young calf who'd suffered a debilitating strike by a shipping vessel. By the time he'd healed, he'd been too old to be released back into the wild and learn the necessary skills for survival. Kiki had been born with a deformed fluke. Dr. Banner, head of their development team, had created a prosthetic to even out the fluke and allow her to swim properly.

Kuno went streaking past one of the windows only to run into Kiki, who drove him back in the other direction. On the surface level, one of the trainers tossed a ball into the enclosure, and Steve watched while both whales played a game of tag in order to steal it from each other.

He reached for his phone, intending to text Bucky a picture only to remember Bucky wasn't part of his life anymore. Bucky was gone. Bucky had nuked their relationship into a crater.

The next time he felt the urge to text his ex-boyfriend came after lunch when he stopped by Nat's office to check on Marvel, whose shell was still in the process of healing. The turtle was holding her own and had gotten over her lung infection to the surprise of the entire vet staff.

Of course, Sam had told Nat about the break-up. She greeted him with a hug, rubbing a palm up and down his back. They didn't speak. She didn't attempt to lift his spirits or bad-mouth Bucky; she just quietly held him, gave him a safe space to hide his face from the world in order to breathe, then allowed him to go about his day as normally as possible.

Willie Penguin, it seemed, had other intentions than to allow Steve to wallow inside his rut. Steve entered the penguin exhibit to watch the feeding cycle. Willie waddled over, flapped his fins, and danced from side to side to get his attention. Steve crouched. Willie stared up at him, head cocked.

“What?”

The penguin then rocked his chest outward and released a braying sound that sent its nearest kin scuttling in the opposite direction, clearly startled. Braying concluded with Willie selecting a nearby stick and bowing while offering it out to Steve.

“Why thank you, Mr. Penguin. That's a lovely stick.” He accepted the gift.

“You realize that's courtship behavior, yes?”

Steve rose to find his boss, Hope Van Dyne, standing nearby. 

“So we have a gay penguin?” he asked.

“Being gay is the least of his worries. How will he build a nest big enough for your eggs?”

Despite his mood, he chuckled.

She went on to say, “Actually, there is research going on into homosexuality in penguin communities. Some all-male couples will even steal eggs from their heterosexual counterparts to rear as their own.”

“That's-- I hadn't heard that.”

“The natural world is full of beautiful things.”

“You here with a mission, Ma'am?”

“Call me 'ma'am' again, and I'll demote you back to the feeding staff.” She pushed away from the rock wall of the enclosure and beckoned for him to follow. “We need to talk.”

“Ominous words.” 

He followed her from the penguin habitat to an office toward the back of the building where she took a load off, indicating he should do the same. 'We need to talk' was one of the universe's more frightening sentences, serving as the Bat signal to his anxiety. If his anxiety dressed up like Batman. It meant 'I'm breaking up with you' or 'you're being fired.'

She laced her fingers together across the surface of the desk. “Steve, I want you to take the research opportunity you've been given and pursue your masters.”

“Pardon? How do you even know about that?”

“Sea Life Park partners with the Oceanic Institute regularly, and it's come to my attention they've tapped you for a new position they're in the process of building. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to lose you. You're a good worker. Very dependable. So I'd like to make you a counter-offer contingent on you receiving your masters within the next three years.”

“I'm listening.”

“I'd like to put you in charge of our rescue division. The way you work the team when an emergency comes in hasn't gone beyond my notice. You're decisive, efficient, and you always work toward the care and betterment of the animals.”

Air rushed out of him, and his back thumped against the backrest of his chair.

“Steve, I promise you that Sea Life Park wants to take care of you. The Institute might offer a more prestigious position for you, but here at our facility, you'll be making a real difference to the animals brought in who are wounded and don't have a better advocate.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Tell me you'll think about it.”

“I will. Working hands on with the animals has always been my favorite part of the job.”

“Good. Now get out of here. Take the rest of the day off. You're walking around here like a zombie. Go eat a tub of chocolate ice cream and watch sad movies. Let the relationship blues run their course.”

He offered a weak smile and rose to leave.

That evening, he sat in front of the living room coffee table, an empty pint of chocolate ice cream next to him, surrounded by paperwork. There were papers for his thesis tract, papers Ms. Potts required to go forward with the grant process, and information on a yacht from Tony Stark's own private fleet.

What he'd said to his ex-boyfriend was no less true. Getting his masters had never felt real until Bucky had entered his life, but it had been long enough since their break-up that his hurtful proclamation that he wouldn't pursue his higher education seemed like cutting off his nose to spite his face. Some of the anger had evaporated, allowing him to look at the situation with a calmer eye.

Two six months forays into the Arctic to conduct research. A semester or two of core classes to cover any deficiencies in his transcript. The thesis proposal and presentation, and he would graduate and take over rescue operations at Sea Life Park. He could help animals like Marvel, who meant so much to Bucky. He could do it because it meant so much to ex-boyfriend, because his ex-boyfriend fought through incredible struggle to build a better life. Steve didn't have the right to do any less.

***

Steel drum music poured from the speakers in his apartment as he attacked a canvas in his little art corner. The white of a coastline took shape along with the electric blue of clear ocean water. That wasn't the main focus of the painting, though. The main focus belonged to a man, waves lapping around his bare ankles. A head of blond hair graced his head. His jaw was strong and square. His eyes matched the blue of the ocean.

It was a face he hadn't seen before but one that made his chest tight with longing. He felt like he should know the man, felt like the man's name was on the cusp of his memories, but no amount of coaxing could drag the identity to the forefront.

He leaned over to pause the iPod docked into his speakers when someone knocked on the door. He opened it to greet Adam Fultz, who existed in a regular state of being disheveled. The guy adjusted his glasses across the bridge of his nose.

“You have a visitor in the lobby who isn't on the approved list.”

Heat jolted through him. The stranger. It was the stranger come to reveal himself. “I'll be down in a minute. Thank you, Mr. Fultz.”

“Adam, please.”

Bucky nodded and moved to clean up his paints and brushes to prevent them hardening. He changed into a clean shirt and stuffed his feet in a pair of sandals before hurrying downstairs in his motorized wheelchair. Excitement made him a bit more reckless, and he nearly plowed over an orderly in his haste to reach the lobby in a timely fashion.

He saw the man in silhouette, his body limned by golden sunshine pouring through a bay window. Breath stoppered in his lungs. The man turned toward him.

It wasn't the stranger from his painting. In fact, it was a woman, her body swathed in a traditional Syrian thob, hair covered demurely in a hijab. She sank into a chair in the waiting area.

Bucky approached slowly and parked himself nearby. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Lilia Antoun. Hakim Antoun is my son.”

His heart thudded faster. “Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes.”

“I know. You teach my son art in the prison. My husband, he does not approve of my son. He does not acknowledge my son. My son is of the people of Lot. The Quran tells us this is a crime and a sin and must be punished, so my husband turned my son away. My son was taken in by bad people.

“What is a mother to do? She cannot stop loving the flesh of her flesh. She cannot stop hoping her progeny find peace and the path to righteousness. What is a mother to do? Tell me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Whatever I say will conflict with your religious beliefs, Mrs. Antoun. I don't believe homosexuality is a sin. I don't believe it's wrong. I believe it's the way Hakim was born, the way you're born liking sports instead of art.”

“Tell me how to save my son. Please.” Her distress was obvious.

“Save your son by loving and accepting him. A new lawyer is looking into his case. She's agreed to take on the work without her usual fees and believes there's a case to be made that Hakim was over-sentenced. She might get him a reduced sentence or even manage to have the sentence revoked entirely. What's important to remember is that Hakim won't be the same young man who went into prison and will need specialized care and support.”

Bucky asked Adam to get his tablet from his room. When the man returned, he sat down with Hakim's mother and looked into the available resources. He gathered from their conversation that Mr. Antoun was intractable on the issue of his son's sexuality and couldn't be swayed into allowing Hakim back into the home. Which meant group homes. There were several group homes that could help transition Hakim back into civilian life and give him a solid foundation on which to build his future.

They talked for more than an hour. Mrs. Antoun was woefully uneducated when it came to modern technology and schools of thought. She was unprepared to leave her husband in an attempt to make a home in which Hakim could live and completely unable to operate the internet in a manner that could help her look up resources on her own, so they spent some time compiling a list of organizations that could help her gain freedom from her husband should she decide to pursue a divorce.

By the end of the hour, he felt like they were in a pretty solid place. She thanked him profusely for his help and hurried back to her car in order to get home before Mr. Antoun returned from work. Bucky remained in the lobby for a while wondering how he'd gotten so involved with social services.

He'd been so distracted over the past couple of hours that he'd forgotten his PT appointment until Namor and Alani showed up to retrieve him. Namor, the grumpy muffin that he was, proclaimed himself above waiting on patients who couldn't keep time, but he was outside in the van all the same when Alani and he finished getting ready and met him there.

The drive to the beach was uneventful. They off-loaded and headed down to the surf, which was when Bucky finally saw him. The man was tall and broad. He stood with his ankles in the surf, back facing toward Bucky. Sunshine spilled honey across the man's blond hair.

As though he could feel Bucky's eyes, the man turned.

Bucky gasped. Electric blue eyes gazed back at him from a noble face. Bucky was frozen.

“You know me?” the man asked.

Agreeing was on the tip of his tongue, but he was afraid of how he felt. He was afraid of the unknown, of what it said about him that he could have such a powerful recollection of a face without any identifying information in his brain.

In the end, he ducked his head and responded, “No, I don't.”

The stranger looked heartbroken.


	15. Sam Wilson is the Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's life following the break-up. Even with Bucky gone, he finds that Bucky is still with him, teaching him new lessons every day.

Trying to piece the bits of his life together after Bucky Barnes should have been so, so hard. Part of him wanted to rail against the injustice. Another part of him wanted to mourn his loss by isolating himself. Surely losing Bucky had to have some profound affect on his life.

And it did in a way. He missed him every damn day and continued to struggle with the urge to call or text at random periods. That aspect had gotten worse after running into Bucky on the beach. He would need to find a new beach to hang out on in order to avoid the object of his unrequited love.

So he would like to say that he turned into some brooding Victorian anti-hero, that he became Heathcliff or the Phantom and stalked the house in the darkest pits of night. Hell, the last time something awful had happened, he'd pulled a runner, uprooted his entire life, and moved to Hawaii without so much as a by-your-leave to everyone who cared about him in New York. 

Reality, though, was nothing like his usual melodramatics. Thanks to Bucky himself and his indomitable spirit of carrying the fuck on against all odds. Every time Steve felt himself dissociating and wanting to drop his masters program, he thought about Bucky struggling through PT three times a week. Each moment he wanted to turn into a snarling bear protecting its wounded paw, he got a mental image of Bucky wearing his usual disappointed expression. The fucker had infected his normal coping strategies, so Steve was left winding his ass and scratching his watch.

His nightmares got worse for a while after the beak-up. He woke drenched in sweat reliving that terrible moment on Mars, watching the rocks tumble down the slope, seeing the realization in Peggy's eyes that she was about to be buried under a ton of rubble, torn between evacuating the team and leaving his girlfriend behind or saving her and endangering everyone else.

The dreams got bad enough in the weeks following the split that he called his VA therapist in the middle of the night, who talked him down from the proverbial ledge. It was bad enough he kept in regular contact with Carol and the Howlies. Shared grief, as they said, was easier to shoulder.

Things weren't all bad, though.

Sam accompanied him the day Captain America was delivered to Dillingham Airfield where she would be stored and maintained by an FBO. He took the afternoon to run diagnostics and ensure the plane had arrived in pristine condition, and once everything checked out, he offered his roommate a flight helmet and climbed inside the cockpit.

“No, shit, Man? We're gonna fly this thing?”

“That's generally what plane is for.”

Sam crammed his own helmet on his head and slid into the seat behind Steve.

Within fifteen minutes, they were soaring over the skies of Oahu where Steve allowed himself to let go of all the angst and stress he'd been living under since the break up. Being in the air felt like a homecoming. It felt like weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Their flight path took them out over the ocean where Steve dropped toward the deck, flying low enough Captain America's belly skimmed the surface of the water. Sam screeched, though it was impossible to tell if the noise from excitement or fear with the way his roommate had been so obviously elated since their take-off.

“Man, Steve, I gotta get me one of these!”

“Good luck with getting the military to turn lose of an F-40 Avenger. You ready to go high, Sam?”

“Aren't we going high already?”

Steve snorted through his face mask and flicked several switches to start pressurizing the cabin and adjusting the atmospheric temperatures inside. He radioed Dillingham Airfield, the military branch of whom was monitoring their flight path to let them know he was doing a space jump. They were interested in monitoring the proto-Avenger to increase ranges of space travel.

“Oh shit. We're going high. When you say we're going high, you mean--”

“Really high, Sam.”

He adjusted their trajectory and started climbing. J.A.R.V.I.S, who was linked in with all the Avengers, kept him updated with their altitude and atmospheric conditions. Once the warning sounded letting them know they were passing through the mesosphere, he adjusted external armor temperature to prevent said icing from compromising their various systems.

Behind him, Sam chanted, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

He adjusted the dampening shields again once they reached the super-heated air at the top of the thermosphere to prevent their plane from being incinerated, and finally, they punched through into the exosphere where most of Earth's satellites orbited. He lowered their trajectory there but maintained optimal speed to push through the last of Earth's gaseous envelopes.

Then, he laid in a course and slowed their speed to allow Sam optimal views at their big, blue planet while Steve sloughed off the remainder of his stress. He breathed evenly into the oxygenated mask. Captain America's environment systems would give them seventy-two hours of breathable oxygen without needing to lock into port at Avengers Station One, a space station where the entire F-40 Avenger fleet could dock to refuel, take on supplies, and recharge their environment systems.

“Steve. Shit, Man, when you told me you flew in space, I didn't think... I didn't take you seriously. My god, look at our planet.”

“It's amazing, isn't it.”

“Fuck a duck. You're an astronaut, Steve. You're a fucking astronaut.”

Steve chuckled into his mask. “They never let me walk on the moon.”

“No, but you freaking walked on Mars!”

Steve turned his attention toward their planet and the crystalline blue that bled into the darkness of space. Everything looked so small. Entire continents appeared as ants beneath them. Being in space had always helped him to realize his own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. What were his troubles compared all of that? Compared to the perfect beauty of their world.

One day, she would get sick of humans and their constant bickering and destroy them all. A mass extinction to allow her scarred and pitted surface to rest, but life would flourish again. New species would arise. Old species would come into dominance, and one day, when the sun was depleted, the world would become cold and empty.

“Why did you give up flying?” Sam asked.

“I wasn't allowed to have nice things after Tony's death.”

“Shit, Man, did you just truth me?”

Steve shrugged. Dillingham Airfield hailed them on the comms, so he patched them through into his helmet. They requested he return to the atmosphere, as a fleet of F-40 Avengers were due into Avengers Station One shortly. No one wanted his presence scrambling anyone's flight plan.

“We're gonna drop back into the atmosphere now. There's gonna be a light show, but don't worry.”

“What do you mean by a light show?”

Rather than telling him, Steve plotted in their descent trajectory and took the plane back into the exosphere. Eventually, molecules of super-heated air enveloped their nose in what appeared to be glowing red flames. Captain America, traveling at high rates of speed, shook upon contact with the super-heated molecules, but her heat dampener shields prevented the armor plating from melting away during re-entry.

Steve kept cool and maintained a firm grip on the yoke.

“Don't worry, right? Our plane's gonna burn up, but don't worry.”

“The plane isn't gonna burn up, Sam. We're not actually on fire.”

“Then what do you call this?”

“Air molecules millimeters away from our armor plating are on fire.”

“Because that makes a huge difference.”

“It does, actually. Now calm your tits. We're gonna be fine.”

And they were. They made it through the descent without incident. It was a very routine flight, and upon circling Dillingham Airfield to wait for an incoming jet to finish landing, Steve brought them in for a smooth touch-down and taxied them into Captain America's storage hangar. By the time he killed the engines, the internal heating and cooling systems had stabilized the plane's temperature.

He popped the canopy, and it slid back to allow pilot and passenger to climb out. The second Sam's shoes touched to the pavement, his roommate straight up danced a jig that ended with him throwing himself into Steve's arms, Steve, who had no option but to catch his friend bridal style or allow him to hit concrete. The other man's enthusiasm made him laugh.

“Man, wait 'til I tell my mama about this. She's gonna bust something. Thank you, Man. Thank you so fucking much. That's an experience I'll never forget.” He popped a kiss on Steve's cheek.

Laughing, Steve returned his roommate to his feet and moved away to speak to the military crew who'd been observing the space jump. They were excited by their readings and wanted to set up a schedule to conduct more jumps in future, something about wanting to decrease flight times from ground to exosphere in case emergency launches became necessary.

***

Steve was buried up to his eyeballs in homework for one of his core classes, kept company by Kuno and Kiki. The whales occasionally came to the viewing windows to blow bubbles at him; it was enough to prompt a grin despite the continued melancholy of his mood. Real pain had faded into a dull ache to be joined by the constant sense that he was missing something vital.

Life continued in the wake of Bucky Barnes, but it was a dull sort of life, one filled with the gray shade of contentment haunting the memory of happiness. Of purpose. Learning to live again after Bucky was no easy task, one where he constantly felt a fraction of synch with his surroundings.

It didn't help that a framed photo of his ex-boyfriend graced his desktop. That smiling face was the first thing he saw when he came into work, loss kicking him in the stomach each time he took in that photograph. Hesitantly, he plucked the photo from his desktop, folded the stand tight against the back, and slid his last reminder of Bucky into the top drawer of his desk.

Moments later, and attention returned to the homework worksheets, Oror knocked on his office door and said, “We had to send home one of our dolphin encounter specialists, Boss. Food poisoning.”

“They're short staffed now?”

She nodded, white hair cropped close against dark skin. “With a full schedule of visitors.”

“I'll take care of it.”

She didn't leave. Rather, she propped her shoulder against the door jamb to contemplate him before asking, “Are you doing all right?”

He shrugged, as there was no good way to answer that question.

“If you need anything, Boss, you let us know. We're here for you.”

He called out when she turned to leave. “Did you and T'Challa ever decide if you were having the wedding here or in Africa?”

The question seemed to startle her, and she asked, “You were paying attention?”

“Why does everyone say that about me? I listen when my team talks.”

Her laughter was musical. She waved away the comment and responded, “We will have the wedding in Kenya, near the home of my ancestral family, but the reception will be here on Oahu where our friends may join in the celebration of our nuptials.”

“I'll put a word in with Ms. Van Dyne to look at the schedule, see how many people we can let off at once to attend. It's not every day two of our own get married.”

She nodded her gratitude and withdrew from his office, leaving behind him the reminder of what he'd almost had if Bucky weren't quite such a stubborn asshole. Asshole was taking it too far, he knew. He understood the other man's reasoning; he just didn't like it.

Steve finished the equations on his worksheet, closed up his books, and left the office to head out to the dolphin encounter. Something sharp made his chest ache when he came within sight of the lagoon. It reminded him of Bucky, of his ex-boyfriend's enthusiasm for aquatic life. Christmas was fast barreling toward them, and Steve had already made plans for the other man's present: a scheduled time slot so he could go swimming with dolphins. Maybe he could give the slot away to someone else.

Inside the staff building, he changed into a wet suit to fill the vacancy and soon found himself treading water in the lagoon to check the stress levels of the dolphins. They were all relaxed and eager to interact with him. Mungo was his favorite, a twenty-nine year old bottle nosed dolphin who came and went from the lagoon on a regular basis. Mungo had this easy-going way about him that calmed Steve, so he spent a few minutes clinging to the dolphin's dorsal fin while Mungo swam laps.

Their first guests arrived shortly thereafter, and he swam back to the dock to collect his first of the day, a doe-eyed seven year old whose file indicated she suffered cerebral palsy. He spent a few minutes talking with her parents, letting them know what to expect during the encounter. They signed the waivers giving him permission to take Jenna out, and he eased her into the water with him, allowing his shoulder to support her head, as she didn't have much muscle coordination in her neck.

Her delight was almost instantaneous. She babbled and splashed happily at the water's surface, and Steve, surrendering to her child-like euphoria, laughed along with her.

Heart, named so because she had a heart-shaped scar on her back, was the first dolphin to approach. She swam circles around them before breaching the surface directly to their front, causing Jenna to shriek with delight and reach hands toward the dolphin. Heart moved in closer to rest her snout against Jenna's tightly curled hands. Said hands twitched. Then, miraculously, they slowly uncurled to allow the snout to fit more comfortably against her palm.

It wasn't the first time Steve had seen something similar when working with the dolphins, but it never failed to cause tears to sting his eyes. Here was this child faced with so many developmental challenges whoe was blossoming right in front of his eyes thanks to the unusual cooperative bond between humans and dolphins.

Heart pressed the point of her snout against Jenna's cheek before turning to swim away.

Mungo replaced Heart, and Steve helped Jenna throw an inflatable ball that Mungo raced out to bat with the tip of his snout. He commandeered said ball and swam it back toward them for another round of fetch, much to Jenna's delight. And this, he said to himself, this was why he wanted to stay at Sea Life Park instead of taking the job at the Oceanic Institute.

By the end of her session, Jenna was aglow with happiness, and Steve left her in her parents' care.

He took a ten minute break to allow the endorphins to settle before climbing back in the lagoon to see who his next appointment was with. Something between excitement and dread settled into the pit of his stomach when he saw the name Bucky Barnes on the files he received.

Phil, who was in charge of the dolphin encounter, noticed Steve's concern. “I can have him transferred to another staff member if it's too much. You can swap guests with someone else.”

As tempting as that was, the better part of him craved whatever contact he could have with Bucky. After all, he was a professional and could handle working with his ex-boyfriend in a professional capacity. Also, he selfishly wanted to share the experience with the man.

“No, I'll be all right.”

Bucky arrived promptly, escorted by a couple of people he recognized as Bucky's co-workers from the correctional facility. All three were in good spirits and joked together, a fact that caused an irrational jolt of jealousy. How dare they seem normal when Steve had been anything but since the break-up? Witnessing just how little their split had affected Bucky hurt.

But he pushed the feelings aside and swam up to the dock to greet them. “I'm Steve Rogers. I'll be your escort for your dolphin encounter.”'

“Bucky Barnes,” the other man responded and offered his hand for a shake. Bucky's glance stalled for a moment, fluttered away only to return a half-second later as though looking for something in Steve's visage. The man ultimately said nothing and introduced his companions as Isaiah and Eli Bradley.

Bucky was wearing a wet suit and only needed to strip his shoes and socks before his companions and Steve eased him into the water. A harness clipped the flotation device to Steve's vest to prevent them from being separated in the event he needed to lend aide supporting Bucky, something that wasn't immediately necessary, as his ex-boyfriend's legs were able to tread water. Together, they swam further into the lagoon near a platform where the dolphin trainers had set up various activities for the guests.

“Is this your first dolphin encounter?” he asked even though he knew the answer.

“Yeah. I've always wanted to swim with dolphins. The opportunity just never presented itself until the guys surprised me with this package.”

“What made you chose Sea Life Park?”

The other man's brow furrowed. “There was a guy. He had these eyes. He said the park specialized in encounters for people with disabilities.”

Hope ignited in his chest, a spark plug firing up an eight hundred horsepower engine. He latched onto it with both hands, the hope Bucky might remember something of their lives together, and he swallowed heavily, mouth suddenly dry.

“What kind of eyes?” he asked.

“They were this gorgeous shade of electric blue but so, so sad all the time.”

“Do you remember me?” he dared to breathe.

Bucky swiveled his head around. “Should I?”

“We met. Before.”

“I'm sorry. My brain is... There was an accident. I have a traumatic brain injury.”

“No, it's okay,” he quickly reassured.

Thankfully, Mungo's arrival saved Steve's heart from pounding out of his chest. The dolphin rose up from the water to press his snout against Bucky's cheek, causing his companion to laugh. Mungo released a rapid series of clicks and squeals in response to the laughter.

Voice tight with unshed emotion, Steve said, “This is Mungo. He's a bottle nose dolphin who's been visiting the park's lagoon for a good fifteen years.”

“How can you tell them apart?”

“Mungo has a chunk missing from his dorsal fin from an Orca attack. Here.” He smoothed his fingers along the ragged divot. Bucky's fingers followed his.

Seeing the awe in Bucky's face while his ex-boyfriend smoothed palms across Mungo's hide opened up a well-spring of happiness. At least they were able to share this. They might be over forever, but at least he could have these last memories.

So Steve worked hard to give Bucky the experience of a lifetime. He collected a hoop from the trainer dock and showed Bucky how to hold it upright. Mungo took a running start and leaped through the hoop, splashing down on the other side. Heart, Luna, and Selkie came soon after in rapid succession.

They hand-fed the dolphins fish. They played a game by tossing a small ring across the lagoon that had dolphins chasing it down, hooking the ring over their snouts, and racing back to return the toy. He allowed Bucky to cling to Ogre, their largest dolphin, while Ogre raced around the lagoon.

Falling back into the same emotional places with Bucky was so easy. They laughed and joked together. Bucky's sense of humor was still so wonderfully naive, innocent in a way that was incredibly refreshing for someone Bucky's age. It was easy to forget they weren't getting together for a date, easy to forget this wasn't a normal part of their lives together as boyfriends. Steve soaked it up.

And at the end, when Bucky's hour long block had come to a conclusion, Steve swam them back to the dock to the hoist that helped him from the water and back into his wheelchair. Isaiah and Eli thanked him profusely for making it a wonderful experience, not that Steve required any thanks for doing what he'd been planning on doing for Bucky's Christmas present anyway.

As they were readying to leave, Bucky maneuvered his chair close to the edge of the dock and held out a piece of paper. “This is probably really inappropriate, and you can tell me to shove off, but if you'd like to call me sometime. To get coffee.”

Equal parts sadness and joy accompanied the statement. Hesitantly, he accepted the paper because rejecting the offer would have been tantamount to stabbing himself in the eye. “Yeah, coffee would be good sometime.” It wasn't like Bucky would remember asking him in the morning anyway.

Sam, who was finally arriving with one of the regular dolphin encounter specialists to replace him, waved from the dock and shouted, “Lunch in ten minutes.”

Steve waved back to acknowledge they were still on for lunch.

Bucky, finally getting himself comfortable in order to head out, said, “Hi, Sam. How's the wedding planning going?”

Steve froze.

Sam froze.

Sam gathered himself enough to say, “It's going great.”

Being kicked in the stomach by a horse would have hurt less.

***

Steve wasn't there when Rebecca Barnes shipped out on deployment. He didn't think it was his place to show up out of the blue. Plus, explaining it to Bucky would have required some rather artful lies, and the last thing he wanted to do was outright lie to his ex. So the date of her deployment came and went. He sent her a text wishing her luck and safety.

About a month after that, Ms. Potts arrived with the SI: Neptune, one of Stark's private yachts that she was letting him use for his research foray into the arctic. It was a sleek, eighty-five foot boat that came complete with its own captain and crew. Frankly, Steve thought it was too much, but Ms. Potts insisted that if he were traveling into the wastes of the arctic, he would do so in the lap of luxury. Tony would have wanted it that way.

So he allowed her the gesture as a way of carrying on with Tony's habit of making grandiose gestures of his affections in the most expensive manner possible. If it helped her feel connected to her late husband, who was he to deny her that feeling?

Over the course of the following three weeks, he submitted his thesis proposal, was assigned a mentor, and started making preparations to leave on his first research trip following the conclusion of his current semester.

He never called Bucky. Bucky never called him. They didn't see each other again after the dolphin encounter. Their lives no longer intersected, and it was painful as much as it was a relief.

He took to spending much of his free time aboard the yacht getting used to the surroundings and avoiding Sam and Sharon's concerned gazes. It was as though they waited with expectant breath for the moment he broke down, for the moment he bailed the way he'd bailed after the New York Invasion. Frankly, it was becoming tiresome to shoulder the weight of their concern.

Which meant he spent a lot of time with Luis. That was never a hardship. Luis was great when it came to creating distraction, and distraction was what Steve needed after finding out Bucky could remember Sharon and Sam but not him. The hot curl of anger had since boiled down to a simmer but was still there, churning away in the bubbling cauldron of his stomach.

Luis padded back along the upper flybridge and pressed a cold bottle of beer against Steve's neck.

Steve yelped and scrambled to grab the beer, popped the cap, and took a long sip.

“This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend's roommate's second cousin...”

Steve stopped paying attention. He stopped paying attention because George Barnes approached the dock where the Neptune was moored. The man carried an oblong package under his arm and asked permission to come aboard before actually coming aboard. Steve agreed.

“Heard you'll be leaving in a couple of weeks.”

He nodded.

“I know things ended badly between you and Bucky and that we've always had our differences, but I also know my son wouldn't want you going off without things being settled between the Rogers and Barnes clans. A peace offering.” He held out the package.

Steve accepted and tore open the protective paper. Inside rested a piece of artwork. It depicted white sands, a golden afternoon, calm waters, and in the foreground, a man with blond hair and electric blue eyes. The man had a strong jaw, a straight nose, and Steve took in a breath and held it. Because his own face in profile stared back at him.

“When did he...”

“After you were broken up and he'd forgotten the details of your daily lives together.”

“He remembers,” Steve said, on the cusp between tears and hopefulness.

George pulled out his cell and tuned to a video recording. In it, Bucky wielded a large paintbrush to layer colors onto a massive canvas. He wailed along with music pouring from his own phone, “Go ahead and hate your neighbor. Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven. You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing come the Judgment Day. On the bloody morning after, one tin soldier rides away.”

“He only sings on the days he paints your face.”

A fat tear dripped down Steve's chin. “He remembers me.””

“My son accused you of being a self-sacrificing person. I'm thinking he was looking in a mirror when he made that accusation. I know he hurt you, but he did it with the best of intentions, and he hasn't been quite the same since. Content, sure. But he hasn't been happy the way he was with you.”

“What do you expect me to do about this?”

“Go to his apartment. See him once more. Find out if there's anything still there between you. Let's work together to find a path forward so the two of you can achieve your dreams without having to be apart from each other. My relationship with Becca is shot. At least I can salvage it with my son.”

Steve nodded.

“I should go. I need to...”

“Well, what are you standing around for, Steve? I'll drive you.” Luis grabbed his car keys. “Let's go get your boy back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post a companion chapter in a few days that details Bucky's time apart from Steve. Then Chapter 17 will be the chapter you've all been waiting for. Just three more chapters and a short epilogue to go.


	16. Alani's Crush Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Bucky spends his time while Steve and him are broken up.

Sending Becca off on deployment was another of those difficult things Bucky hadn't wanted to do but did for the sake of those he cared about. The ceremony started at Fort Shafter where family and friends of the 9th Military Support Command turned up to watch the unit make their final preparations for deployment. It was there Becca's unit fell to formation. It was there Lt. Palakiko led them in the Ha'a, a traditional war chant of the Hawaiian islands.

They dropped into a battle stance, knees spread, bodies rigid and slapped their chests. Voices soared like countless threads pulled into one weave. Male baritones and tenors chanted the base line. Female altos and sopranos skated above them. Feet stomped against the ground, and it was powerful.

Bucky found himself holding his breath against the display, against the combined might of the 9th MSC declaring that the world would tremble at their coming. But it was also beautiful. Their precision was as a knife's edge cutting through muscle and tissue, and within moments, the very ground beneath his wheelchair reverberated with their power. Were he an enemy combatant, they would have sent him running in terror.

After the dance, soldiers were allowed to mingle one last time with their families. Bucky draped a lei over Becca's shoulders and kissed her cheek. She ruffled his hair in response.

“I'm so proud of you, Becca,” he said.

“That means a lot coming from you, Buck. You'll be okay, right? I mean, I'm leaving you alone with Stuffy McStufferson here.” She nudged her elbow into Dad's side.

Dad, grim-faced, settled a hand on her back. It was clear their dad hadn't fully accepted Becca's choices but was still doing his fatherly duty and standing up for her as she went off to war. Honestly, Bucky had no idea how to heal the rift between them. They were so stubborn and like-minded that he wasn't sure there was a way to make things better.

They didn't go to the airport terminal with her. She asked them not to, so the last he saw of his sister was her filing onto a transport that would take them to the airport. He would remember the feeling of watching her walk away, of watching her disappear into that transport. He would always remember praying to God she came home safely, rosary clutched in hand, Hail Mary tumbling from his lips.

After, Dad and he went to the Hukilau Cafe for dinner and to be comforted by the welcoming arms of Leolani, Alani, and Anna-Ikaika, who all understood what it was like to watch a loved one go off to war. The matriarchs of their families had been watching sons and daughters do it since Pearl Harbor.

There was comfort in sitting around an old cafe at a scarred wooden table eating good food served family style and surrounded by loved ones. Dad took comfort in Leolani and Anna-Ikaika. Bucky spent most of the time neck deep in Alani's relationship drama. Again.

His friend fancied herself infatuated with Namor McKenzie of all people. Like that was going to go in any good direction. Namor was a good physical therapist but an infuriating person.

Something amply proved the following day at the beach. Bucky had woken that morning with another of his headaches but with memories of yesterday intact. The last thing he wanted was to subject himself to going to the beach and pushing his body beyond its limits, but he didn't say that aloud, didn't once complain when Alani helped him get settled in his van.

They met Namor at the beach that day. The man had already collected quite the crowd of spectators as he stripped down to his tiny swimming briefs and stretched. Bucky may have been attracted to the guy at one point. After all, he had the body of Adonis, and Bucky could appreciate a fine work of art when placed in front of him. The trouble came when Namor opened his mouth.

“You're late.” Said in flat monotone.

“Bucky had a little trouble getting going this morning.”

“Does he have two broken legs? Did he hit his head sometime in the night?”

“No,” she responded.

“Then there's no excuse for keeping me waiting.”

“Twenty minutes, Dr. McKenzie. Are you really gonna bust our balls for being twenty minutes?”

“Your balls are of no concern to me. Your promptness is. Shall we begin?”

Bucky stripped down to his swimming trunks with Alani's help. The surgery scar on his arm from where doctors had repaired his ruptured tendon was still pink with healing but got lost amidst the rest of the mangled flesh there. He'd developed an infection in the arm following the accident. Doctors had been forced to excise muscle and soft tissue in an attempt to halt the spread of gangrene.

It wasn't often he felt insignificant next to someone else, but the way the rest of the beach goers twittered over Namor's body made him feel slightly self-conscious with his damaged arm on display. So he tugged a t-shirt back on to hide the worst of it.

Alani on one side, Namor on the other, he rose from his wheelchair and took the steps necessary to reach the surf where water buoyed him against the weakness in his legs. He sagged into its embrace and did his best to ignore the pounding of his head and his uncooperative legs while kicking to propel himself through the water. Alani never left his side.

Namor was a gruff son of a biscuit eater, but he also knew how to push Bucky. That was the only reason he'd put up with the man's aggressive machismo for as long as he had. Other physical therapists would have let him quit after fifteen minutes of treading water. Namor made him tough it out another fifteen minutes, even if it required verbal goading to get Bucky on board.

So Bucky turned and repeated the pattern of kicks while Alani helped support his weight. The struggle was worth it when he managed to stand in the surf and maintain his balance despite water dragging sand from beneath his feet. Didn't matter that he was shaking and on the brink of collapse. What mattered was the achievement. What mattered was being able to stand on his own two feet for longer than he had the week before.

Alani helped him onto a towel where Namor put him through a series of exercises on land, asking him to push the sole of his foot against Namor's palm or curl and uncurl his toes to stretch little-used muscles. All the while, they were surrounded by swooning peacocks twittering about the play of muscle along Namor's back. It was distracting to say the least.

Eventually, Alani worked up the courage to say something about her ongoing crush. “So I was wondering if you would like to get a cup of coffee some time. Outside of Bucky's PT schedule.”

Namor looked at her blankly, confusion given away only by the slight lines between his eyebrows. “I don't drink coffee.”

She laughed. “Who doesn't drink coffee?”

“Me.”

“Lunch then.”

“What are your intentions?”

“Pardon?”

“Why the interest in coffee and lunch?”

“Well, I like you.” She dragged her toes through the sand. “And I think we could have chemistry.”

Namor laughed, it was a rusty sound like sheaves of paper blowing in the breeze. “You're a child.”

Her shoulders shot up in to a defensive position. “I am not.”

“My tastes run toward the more mature while you are a fresh bud yet to bloom. Your interests would be better applied to someone less sophisticated than Namor McKenzie.”

“Hey, Mr. High and Mighty. Take it easy,” Bucky cut in. “There's no need to be pompous.”

“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” Alani asked.

At that point, another man arrived on scene, equally ripped and sporting a head full of golden hair. Bucky did a double-take, but a second glance assured him this was not the man he'd been dreaming about for so long, the blue-eyed stranger who made him feel like something in his life was missing. The newcomer smiled and briefly touched Namor's shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know I'll be over at the cabana when you're done with your appointment, Darling.” The newcomer leaned down for a kiss.

It was like a wax form had been removed from molten gold before the gold could harden. All the harsh edges of Namor's face softened. He leaned up to press a kiss to the other man's lips and murmured, “I won't be long, my heart.”

Alani and Bucky glanced back and forth to each other, jaws practically unhinged.

As soon as the stranger disappeared, Alani exclaimed, “Dude, all you had to say was that you were spoken for. No need to get into the whole 'you're just a child' spiel. My God, it's like you were reared by wild wolves, Dr. McKenzie. It was just freaking coffee.”

“I still do not drink coffee.”

She flapped her fingers at him to mime flapping jaws. “Go and be with your SO. I can get Bucky home safely.”

“SO?”

“Periwinkle,” she cursed. “Did you crawl out from under a rock yesterday?”

“Significant Other,” Bucky supplied by way of explanation.

Watching Namor walk away to join his partner was a lot more entertaining than dealing with the man's leaden personality. At least Bucky had a fine ass to watch as the man retreated.

Alani wasn't devastated by his refusal, and they wound up at a pizza parlor after leaving the beach laughing about the whole situation. It was one of the things he loved about her. She was like a duck in water, letting everything roll off her back in favor of getting on with life.

***

The day Isaiah and Eli greeted him after class with an envelope topped by a Christmas bow was a good day. His kids weren't fighting amongst themselves. Nick had finally gotten the message that Hakim was with Cameron. Bucky was able to get Nick to agree to some LGBT positive counseling to help him deal with the fall out from finally admitting his same-sex attractions. Deshawn came to class in a plain, black t-shirt and not one that contained the logo of the correctional facility.

His work friends came into the classroom while he cleaned up from the day's activities and presented him with the envelope without ceremony or speech-making. He offered them a confused look before opening the top flap and pulling out the papers inside. Several forms needed to be filled out with his physical restrictions for the dolphin encounter experience at Sea Life Park.

“Merry Christmas,” the twins said at nearly the same time.

“Guys, this is amazing!” he exclaimed. “I've always wanted to do this. How did you even get these?”

“I've got a friend who works at the encounter. They had a last minute cancellation,” Eli said.

“You're both going with me, right? Someone needs to hold the camera and film me. Otherwise I'll just forget in the morning.” Something pricked his memories. It was a sensation more than anything, the swoop of a stomach cresting an immense height before plunging back toward the ground.

“Sure. We'd love to go and record it.”

So that weekend, they piled into Bucky's van to head out to the aquatic park where a gorgeous blond man named Steve Rogers helped him into the water and showed him the dolphins. And it was the most amazing experience of his life. Well, one that he could remember at any rate.

He got pictures with Mungo, Heart, and Ogre, and may or may not have stolen a few quick shots of Steve. Had he really given the guy his number and asked him out for coffee? There was just something about the guy that made him feel hollow inside, that made him yearn for something he couldn't remember having. It was the incontrovertible urge to hold onto Steve with a death grip.

And later, he printed the photos to place inside his journal and preserve the memory. The picture of Steve Rogers had a whole page dedicated to it where he'd written _'Who are you? Why does the ghost of your face haunt me? Where have I met you before? Why do you look so sad? What can I do to wipe away your sadness? Why do I want to? Why do I feel like I need you in my life? I hope you call. I hope we get coffee. I hope I can teach you to live. I hope you teach me to live in the moment.'_

***

The next time he interacted with the mystery blond was at the beach. 

For once, Bucky wasn't there for Physical Therapy. In fact, he was attending a beach party hosted by Silk a week prior to her going away to college back in the contiguous states. Someone had music playing at a low key level while people mingled and ate hot dogs and hamburgers. It was a sunny afternoon, and Bucky enjoyed getting together with all his friends.

That was when a pod of melon-headed whales beached nearby. Miles was the first to notice. Within twenty minutes, their whole group had migrated down the beach with people jumping in to bucket ocean water in an attempt to keep the whales moist in the baking sunshine.

Bucky didn't know what possessed him when he grabbed his cell phone and dialed a never-before-used number in his contacts. It simply read “Steeb.” Three rings went by before the call connected.

“Bucky?”

“Hi, there are some melon-headed whales who just beached near Waimanalo Park.”

“How many individuals?”

“About twenty? They're still alive. My friends are trying to keep them wet and cool.”

“Keep your interaction with the whales to a minimum. A team from Sea Life Park will be out shortly until NOAA Fisheries can coordinate with someone from the stranding network to take over operations. These are wild animals, Buck, and they're frightened. Keep as many people back as you can or you risk stressing the animals even more.”

“Roger that.”

All he wanted to do was ask how Steeb knew his name, but such concerns were pushed aside in favor of relaying the man's instructions to his friends. There were enough of them there to form a partial barrier around the whales to protect them from other curious onlookers who may have wanted to touch. 

Steve from the dolphin encounter showed up soon after with a whole group of people wearing Sea Life Park shirts. His presence made Bucky's heart do something funny. A flash of memory assailed him. At night on the beach with someone's thick arm wrapped around him, the other man moving fingers along the frets of a guitar while Bucky strummed the strings. The smell of his partner filled his nostrils in concert with dew-heavy air and brine from the ocean.

It was there and gone in a flash, and he rolled his chair along to get a better vantage while the team from Sea Life Park began assessing the condition of the whales. Watching Steve was beautiful. He took immediate command of the stranding site, his voice full of authority that spoke of a military background. People listened to him. More importantly, they obeyed him, and in a situation where every moment could mean another whale's life, the ability to command attention was paramount.

So they didn't actually get to talk until the stranding response team arrived. Steve was too busy. The new team, however, was able to start moving whales back into deeper waters while scientists from the university and the Oceanic Institute took vital information and tissue samples in the hopes of finding out why the whales had stranded in the first place.

Someone organized flood lights as day bled into evening. Volunteers had shown up at some point to bring water and refreshments for the people working with the whales, and Bucky stayed behind to help them. Eventually, he grabbed a bottle of water and a couple of cookies and drove his wheelchair over toward Steve to offer the man both.

“You've been at it for hours. Hydration and calories are your friend.”

Steve smiled and used a wet wipe to clean up as much as he could before accepting the refreshments. “Thanks. Do you—uh--”

“You helped me in the dolphin encounter.”

“Anything else?” the man asked, brow furrowed and looking hopeful.

Bucky shook his head.

Steve's shoulders fell.

“I just thought, since you knew to call me about the whales...”

“I don't know why I did, and I don't know why I have your number in my phone. Why do I have your number programmed in my phone?”

The other man was quiet for a few moments, obviously uncertain as to what or how much to say. Eventually, he said, “We met before the dolphin encounter, but with your TBI, you don't... It's okay, Buck. You don't have to remember me.”

“We were friends for a while?”

Steve nodded.

“I can't imagine why I would stop being your friend.”

Pain etched the corners of the other man's mouth. “Neither can I.”

“I'm sorry if I hurt you.”

“I know you are. It's just-- It's good to see you. You're looking well.”

“Today was a good day. My neurologist has me on a new medication that seems to really be helping my headaches,” Bucky answered automatically. He didn't know why he would sound so routine with someone he'd only just met or had been casual acquaintance with.

“That's good. I'm glad to hear that.” He continued, “How is Becca? I heard she deployed recently.”

“She's settling in. They have her stationed in Central America right now. Obviously, she can't tell me exactly where or what the military has her working on, but she's an MP, and I know it has something to do with terrorist cells and training of foreign support troops.”

“Will you let me know how she's doing from time to time?”

“Sure. I wasn't aware you knew Becca very well. Do you know her from your military training? You're obviously ex-military with the way you hold yourself. You have that swagger that comes from marching in formations.” He offered a smile.

Steve rose to the challenge and smiled back. “I was a Space Ready Airman. Becca and I never crossed paths until I became friends with you.”

“You were an SRA? Were you at the Battle for New York?” He knew the second Steve's shoulders went rigid that it was the wrong thing to ask and immediately sought to back-track from the question. “Sensitive subject. You don't have to answer that.”

But the other man's posture eased moments later. “I was.”

“I never know whether I should thank veterans for their service. On the one hand, it must get tiring having people say that constantly. On the other, I don't want to disrespect you by not acknowledging your service, so I'll let you lead here.”

“I won't bite your head off if you do.”

“But what do you prefer?”

“That you don't.”

“Can I ask what it's like to fly in space?”

That brought a genuine smile to the man's visage. “It's breathtaking. Being up there and looking down on our planet reminds you how small you really are in comparison to the world. It's a humbling experience. You never realize how vibrant and blue our planet is until you've seen it against the deep dark of outer space. Like an oasis in a desert. “

The way Steve talked about it made Bucky breathless and brought back a flash of something, of his stomach swooping as they gained altitude, as they rocketed toward the sky. But he couldn't remember having been inside a small aircraft before. The only times he'd flown had been on commercial airlines crammed with other passengers, not the intimate haven of a two-seater cockpit.

A moment of awkward silence passed between them, gorged with things left unsaid.

In an effort to break the tension, Bucky joked, “You never called me for coffee.”

It had the opposite effect. Steve went rigid. Blue eyes glanced out over the ocean where stranding specialists continued helping whales back out toward deeper waters. A muscle in his jaw clenched.

“I can't do this, Buck.” The man's voice trembled with repressed emotion. “No one ever said being friends with you would be easy, but I didn't expect this. I'm sorry. But every time I'm around you, I remember what it feels like to hold you. To be in love with you, and God, I'm still in love with you. It doesn't get easier. There's a hole inside me where you belong.”

“What are you talking about?”

A pained breath stuttered into the man's lungs. “Nothing.”

“Steve...”

“I should get back to work.”

Bucky let him go. He was too confused to muddle his way through whatever undercurrent the conversation had taken on. Clearly, Steve and him had been more than friends, but he couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? Why was the morning of the accident so clear but the second after so blank? Why couldn't he have met Steve Rogers a day before the accident?

Hollowness ate away at the core of his body as he watched the other man work. He stood on a precipice between understanding and ignorance and felt as though one shift in the tectonic plates would topple him in either direction. Steve and him had been something more. He couldn't understand why he would throw that away, why he would allow himself to forget.

Whatever that Bucky had been thinking, he was pretty sure, he wanted bash the guy's skull against some rocks. Because how dare he hurt Steve Rogers? How dare he put the ice in Steve Rogers' eyes?

***

Seven days later, Bucky woke with no memory of the whale stranding, a hollow ache in the center of his chest, and a whole slew of meetings with Jennifer Walters, who was preparing to put in an appeal for Hakim's sentencing. She wanted him to testify as to Hakim's character in art class, something he was prepared to do with bells on. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was Hakim.

Something was different in his apartment, though. He couldn't quite put his finger on it until looking in the art journal that cataloged his current pieces and the inspiration behind each one. One of his paintings was missing. The one tentatively titled 'Stranger at the Beach.' It depicted a blue-eyed man whose eyes contained a well-spring of sadness despite the pleasant backdrop of a beach at sunset.

Why that painting would go missing was a mystery. It wasn't registered as having been sold or shipped to the gallery that sometimes displayed his work. The only explanation was that his father had made off with it, as sometimes happened when Dad took special interest in a particular painting. They usually wound up in the family home, and Bucky rarely had the heart to sell them after Dad had hanged them around the house.

Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him, but that particular piece felt too intimate, too personal for reasons he couldn't name. Having his father make off with it irked him, so he shot off a quick text reminding his dad of personal boundaries and cajoling him about coming into Bucky's apartment when Bucky wasn't there to stop him from thieving art.

He didn't bother waiting for a reply, just finished getting ready with the help of his new home health aide, a young named named Rachel Summers. He didn't really need her for getting dressed in the morning, but the staff were being extra cautious still about his morning routines after he'd fallen out of bed a couple of times. Anyway, she was of a gentle nature, and he liked her low-key presence.

There was no way he could have known that Dad would ask permission to board a yacht moored at Ala Wai Harbor later that afternoon. He had no idea his life was about to take a massive detour from the carefully planned future he'd prescribed himself. He simply wasn't prepared for paternal meddling.


	17. Willie the Penguin is Secretly Fred Astaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one everyone's been waiting for.

A week after the melon-headed whale stranding, George Barnes turned up at the SI: Neptune carrying a painting that sent Steve Rogers racing north toward Pleasant Ridge to reconnect with Bucky. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Later, he would apologize to Luis for urging the man to ignore traffic laws in order to get them there just a little faster.

The car had hardly come to a halt when he threw the passenger door open. People in the foyer tried to stop him. He wasn't on the approved visitor list anymore. They stood a better chance halting a bull than preventing Steve Rogers from reaching the man he loved, the man who remembered him.

He out-paced security, hopped on an elevator, and just managed to get the doors closed before men in uniform could barrel inside. Thankfully, there was no God-awful elevator music to contend with, just the frantic jumble of his emotions threaded liberally with hope that refused to stay dead.

The corridor outside Bucky's apartment was empty when he arrived. It wouldn't take security long to figure out where he was going and take the stairs to intercept him, so he had a small margin of time to get Bucky to open the door and talk to him. He hopped to it, racing down the hall and pounding against the door. Soft music emanating from inside assured him someone was home.

He tried again.

“Bucky, it's Steve. Open the door. We need to talk.”

Doors at either end of the corridor opened, allowing men in uniform to spill into the hall.

“Bucky, please. Your father showed me the painting.”

They were on him. One burly man grabbed his arm, and he could have broken free if he hadn't minded hurting them. He'd sworn after retiring not to put military skills to use against civilians, though.

Guards were just beginning to lead him away when the door creaked open.

“Hi?”

His body loosened. “Do you know me?”

Bucky's eyes widened slightly. “I don't.”

“You know me, Bucky Barnes. Please. You have to know me.”

“We're sorry for the interruption, Mr. Barnes.” A guard started steering him away again.

Then, the crack of a whip in the silence, Bucky said, “Wait.”

Steve stilled. Awful, awful hope provided another surge of adrenaline.

“There's something I want to show you,” said Bucky. “Please, let him go. It's fine.”

Steve was in motion the moment the guards turned loose of him. He shot them a withering glance before approaching the door Bucky opened to allow him inside. Stepping into the studio was like stepping into a carnival fun house, a prism where each facet depicted another version of his face.

The place was covered with paintings. Some showed him in silhouette, the only recognizable feature being the blue of his eyes. Others depicted him in the cockpit of Captain America. Some of the details were wrong, but he couldn't mistake the interior of that jet for any other plane.

Color exploded onto every canvas. There was abstract art, the dreamy brushstrokes of watercolors, thick charcoal building the foundations of his face. Modernist. Impressionist. Photo-realistic. He was surrounded by himself rendered by Bucky's loving hands.

And there was love. In every brushstroke and pigment. In every careful contour. In every shadow and every highlight. He could read the undeniable love the artist felt for his subject.

Something wet rolled down Steve's cheek.

Bucky carefully pushed to his feet and reached out to grasp Steve's forearms for balance.

“I don't know who you are, Steve, but I dream about you almost every night.” Then, breathless, eyes full of hope and wonder, he asked, “Why?”

“What would you say,” he asked, “if I told you that journal you read every day used to have a lot of stuff about me in it?”

“I would say that that makes a lot of sense.”

“You erased me from your memories because you thought you were holding me back from having a full and happy life, but you made a mistake. Being with you is the only way I can have a full and happy life. You're the man of my dreams, and apparently I'm the man of yours.”

Bucky sniffled and shifted his grip so he could shake Steve's hand. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers.”

They skipped the rest of the introductions, surging forward until their lips connected. It felt like a homecoming. Pulling Bucky's body against his own was a puzzle piece slotting into place. His curves met Steve's edges, and they clung there, suspended in time.

Bucky's lips parted. His tongue entreated Steve into his mouth. Steve didn't hold back, plunging inside to taste the silk and velvet hidden away here, to feel his lover's tongue rasp along his. He groaned. Tightening his arms around his the other man, he lifted Bucky from his feet to take the pressure from his legs, spun them in a quick circle, and pulled back from the kiss to release joyous laughter.

“Make love to me,” Bucky murmured.

“You're sure? You haven't even bought me dinner yet.”

Laughing, Bucky swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I'm sure.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to come in your mouth.” The pad of Bucky's thumb skimmed along Steve's lower lip. He curled it down briefly, fingertip kissing Steve's teeth.

Steve wrapped his lips around the thumb and sucked.

Bucky's eyes widened. They slid closed. He groaned.

Grinning around the digit, Steve scooped Bucky from his feet and settled the man in the middle of the bed. He didn't follow right away. Rather, he padded to the door to lock it and sent a quick text to Luis that things were great and he would take a cab home later. Luis sent him back a dancing cactus emoji.

That done, he turned off his phone, tossed it aside, and teased Bucky by slowly stripping from his shirt. His lover watched with rapt attention as every inch of golden skin was bared to the afternoon lighting streaming in through a window. After tossing aside his shirt, he untied the string of his board shorts and shimmied them down his hips, leaving behind tighty-whities that were tented around his half-chub.

He kicked off his canvas shoes and prowled toward the bed where Bucky had tucked both arms behind his head to enjoy the show. A tiny smile curved the other man's mouth.

“God, look at you. You're like some sort of Greek statue.”

Steve shifted a knee onto the bed. “You aren't so bad yourself, Beautiful.”

The compliment kissed Bucky's cheek with roses.

“I'm nothing compared to you.”

He urged Bucky to sit up far enough for him to skim the man's shirt up his torso only to throw the offensive garment away. “Tell me,” he breathed, warm breath ghosting over Bucky's nipples.

“I know you,” the man whispered, low and intimate.

“Again.”

“I know you.”

Steve's mouth closed around a nipple to suckle. Teeth rasped against the peak, pulling it into a tight pebble, and when he pulled on it, a moan stuttered from his lover's throat. He reveled in the fingers carding through his sun-kissed hair and the gentle scrape of nails against his scalp.

He kissed his way across the man's chest toward the other nipple. By the time he reached his target, he'd opened Bucky's jeans, careful not to disturb the ostomy bag located low on his stomach. It didn't require any urging for Bucky to lift his hips, allowing Steve to drag his jeans down and fling them across the room. They landed somewhere near the front door, he though.

“I know you, too,” Steve said.

His tongue laved Bucky's nipple before leaving a hot trail down the man's stomach, punctuating his descent by grazing his teeth along the trail of hair leading beneath the man's boxers. His lover's breath hitched. Bucky lifted his hips again to allow Steve to pull his boxers down. The man's hard cock bobbed free of its confines and came to rest, fat and glistening, along Bucky's stomach.

Steve licked a stripe from root to crown. The object of his attention twitched, strained toward his mouth, and he released a low rumble of laughter over its eagerness before kissing the blunted tip where a bead of moisture pebbled.

Bucky's breath stuttered. He held his head up from the pillow, hooded eyes watching, pupils dilated with visceral want. The man's pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

Taking pity on him, Steve finally opened his throat around the crown, taking the cock deep, pressing down until the head nestled in his throat, until he felt the springy curls at the base tickle his nose. His lovers moan greeted him. 

Then, slowly, he began to bob. The weight of Bucky's cock along his tongue made his own harden, and he rutted against the bed to find relief from the mounting pressure in his loins. Each time his hips moved, his lover released a breathless, broken sound mingled with words of encouragement. A soft “yeah, Stevie” nearly lost amongst whispers of “feels so fudging good.”

Steve's tongue swirled around the cockhead. He dipped into the slit located there to gather the bead of fluid and watched it stretch between his bottom lip and Bucky's cock. It was a tiny filament joining them together, entwining their lives for what Steve hoped was the rest of eternity.

His fingers weren't idle, though. He cradled his lover's balls, traced fingertips over the ridge flesh, cupped their weight in his palm, and squeezed ever-so-slightly. It was enough to make Bucky arch off the bed like an electrical current shot through his body, and when Steve's fingertip pulled against the rim of Bucky's hole, the other man shouted, white knuckles fisting strands of Steve's hair.

The sheer wantonness of having Bucky splayed beneath him, the man's legs parted wide around Steve's shoulders, heels planted firmly against Steve's shoulder blades, nearly made him spill without any further stimulation. So he redoubled his efforts, fist closing around the shaft to work counterpoint to the wet heat of his mouth. The salty, bitter taste of his lover's pre-come leaked onto his tongue.

“Don't stop,” gasped Bucky. “I'm almost there.”

He didn't stop. Rather, he swallowed his partner down to the root and hummed, sending vibrations through Bucky's nerve endings strongly enough his lover shouted and arched off the bed. Then, Steve slid both hands beneath Bucky's ass, urging the man to move, begging Bucky to fuck into his mouth and trust that Steve would handle it.

His lover did.

Moments later, the other man's body seized. He whimpered uncontrollably and thrust into Steve's heat with ragged motions, come spurting triumphantly along Steve's tongue. Panting, Bucky sagged.

“Gimme a minute,” he said around lungfuls of air. “Cheeses, Larry, and Jose.”

The curse made Steve laugh. He rolled to the side and slithered up the bed to collapse next to Bucky, one palm settling on the man's chest to card fingers through the smattering of hair there. He was content to rest, to bask in the afterglow, but Bucky caught his chin to pull him into a kiss. It sent a little thrill up his spine to know his lover was tasting the remnants of himself on Steve's tongue.

Kisses turned filthy as tongues intertwined, and after a few minutes of making out, Bucky urged Steve to straddle his shoulders. Steve settled himself, holding most of his weight on his knees, but the position brought him in close enough proximity that Bucky lowered his tighty-whities to hook the hem behind the heavy weight of his balls.

His cock begged sweetly, and he allowed his head to fall back, murmuring soft praise as the wet warmth of his lover's mouth wrapped around him. Seeing Bucky's lips stretched around his cock made his whole body shudder with want. He watched the head bulge the side of Bucky's cheek as it slid deeper, as Bucky dropped his jaw and allowed the cockhead to nudge into the back of his throat.

Then came the overwhelming vibrations of Bucky humming around his girth. Sensations pulled a low rumble from his chest, and he braced his hands on the bed's headboard to steady himself. It was Paradise. It was Nirvana. It was a thousand dreams come true.

And that was before Bucky's palms slide around his hips, before the man dug fingers into the taut muscle of Steve's ass and urged him to thrust. He tried to resist; the last thing he wanted was to hurt Bucky, but as the Borg said, resistance was futile. Gently, his hips bucked, allowing himself to fuck his lover's mouth and concentrate on the velvet slide of Bucky's tongue working the underside of his shaft.

Helpless noises turned into a moan thick with want when he glanced down and took in the gleam of saliva and pre-come wetting Bucky's chin. The way his eyes slid closed. The look of bliss on the man's face. The soft curl of his tongue against Steve's frenulum.

It was all Steve could do to avoid spilling then and there.

Instead, thighs trembling, he pulled back enough to allow his cock to slip free. Their eyes met, a siren calling to her prey. Steve fisted his shaft and slowly jerked himself. He pressed the crown against Bucky's cheek and moaned at the scrape of the man's stubble against the sensitive head. A smear of fluid remained when he skated his cockhead along Bucky's jaw, marking the man in the most primal way possible. Declaring without words that “You are mine, as I am yours.”

The cockhead settled against the cleft in Bucky's chin, and the man darted his tongue out, allowed the tip to rasp along the shaft while those beguiling eyes gazed steadily up at Steve. Eyes that said “You are helpless against my song, as I am helpless against yours.”

Steve pulled back Bucky's bottom lip and allowed the crown to skate along the man's teeth. Bucky opened his mouth to engulf the head. The suspended moment snapped. Steve plunged back into the heat of his lover's mouth and thrust shallowly.

Within moments, the orgasm was there. He reached down, stroked himself through it. Lines of come erupted, the first landing across Bucky's forehead, the second on his cheek, the third, finally, splashing into his mouth. Bucky's tongue darted out to lick it up greedily, and Steve, mesmerized, collected the rest on his fingertips and fed them into that willing mouth. Bucky closed his lips around the fingers and suckled like a starving man.

Spent, Steve carefully eased onto his side. Nothing felt more right than having Bucky turn and nestled into his broad chest, allowing him to drape a heavy thigh over the other man's hips. He kissed Bucky's temple and allowed peace to settle around them. It was the first time he'd felt whole since Bucky had broken up with him, the first time he'd been utterly content.

***

The crowd gathered around the penguin exhibit roared with laughter. Inside the enclosure, Steve plastered his arms against his sides and waddled along to the beat of pop music spilling from the speakers like Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins. Beside him, Willie mimicked his motions as the pair danced to the delight of their audience. They spun in circles, two-stepped their way cross the rocks, and moon-walked their way back to the starting position.

After, when Taylor Swift stopped crooning about Romeo and Juliet, he tossed sardines to the gathered penguins as a treat and finished his demonstration. The guests ate it up and were eager for the short meet-and-greet afterward, where he spent precious time allowing them to get a closer look at Willie and some of the other penguin ambassadors. The penguin show was always a big hit with tourists.

As soon as the penguins showed the least sign of stress, he ended the session to allow them to go back to their normal routine and left the enclosure into the maintenance area back-stage. He was just washing his hands when Sam entered ahead of Buck and called out their presence.

“Your boyfriend's here!”

Lighting up, Steve pitched hand towels in the recycle bin and hurried over, leaning down to greet his boyfriend with a quick kiss. “I didn't think you'd make it today.”

“What? No kiss for me?” asked Sam.

Steve was in the type of mood where he popped a quick kiss on Sam's lips, too, much to his roommate's chagrin. Sam sputtered and wiped at his mouth. His glare could have melted chocolate.

“You asked for it, Pal. I was just fulfilling your request.”

“Yeah, and I asked for the moon, but you haven't pulled that from the sky yet.”

Bucky's mirth spilled forth in laughter as the man tugged loose his tie.

“How did it go today?” asked Steve.

“The appellate court agreed to review Hakim's case. It's a huge step. Ms. Walters was afraid they'd shut us down and not even bother hearing the case. You know, son of Syrian refugees. It astounds me how much personal bias comes into play with our judicial system.”

“That's great!” He knew how much Hakim meant to Bucky and could tell from his boyfriend's easy body language that things had gone better than expected. “You want to visit Marvel?”

Bucky agreed, so they made their way across the park into veterinary services. Their rescue operation wasn't huge. There were a number of great organizations in Hawaii that usually stepped in to accept wounded animals before Sea Life Park, but recent cutbacks in funding meant they were taking more cases than usual. As evidenced by Steve's promotion. Or at least he would be promoted after finishing his masters degree.

Nat greeted them in the clinic. “You're just in time,” she said. “We were getting ready to crate him for transport. Our CT machine isn't large enough, so we're sending him to the hospital. If his spinal injury shows enough healing, I was thinking about releasing him back to the wild at the end of the month.”

“That soon? That's awesome.”

Marvel was well enough he'd been transferred from the kiddie pool into a larger tank that allowed him to stretch his flippers. He circled in the enclosure at a lazy pace when they arrived. A series of titanium screws and rods had been used to splint his shell back into position, and there was clear evidence of tissue regrowth in the process of knitting the shell back together.

Nat explained to them that the screws and rods would be removed prior to his release back into the wild, but at present, they were worried about his motor functions. The use of his left flipper seemed stunted. A CT scan would show them better what was going on internally, if the motor function was caused by the spinal injury or if something else was responsible.

The similarities between his boyfriend and the wounded turtle weren't lost on Steve, and he leaned his hip against the recovery tank to watch Bucky cooing whenever Marvel swam close enough. He slipped his phone from his pocket to record some footage of his boyfriend making goo goo faces and baby-talking Marvel, as it was one of the cutest things he'd seen all week.

From the vet clinic, they got take-out to have lunch down on the beach together, Steve setting aside his sandwich to help Bucky remove his suit jacket, which was then draped over the back of his wheelchair. They talked about simple things, about Steve's upcoming research trip, about how Bucky's kids were doing in art class. It was an easy conversation, but then, being with Bucky had always been easy.

Things became heavier when they threw away their lunch trash and his boyfriend unhooked a satchel draped around his chair back. He rifled through and presented Steve with sheets of paper that had been torn from a journal and wadded into balls. Someone had gone through and lovingly smoothed them flat in order to arrange them in chronological order.

“What am I looking at?”

“Becca saved them.”

Steve looked at the first page to find a sketch of himself standing on the beach that looked much the same as the oil painting George had brought to the Neptune. He flipped to another page filled with his boyfriend's handwriting.

 _“I met a guy at the Hukilau today. God, he's so dreamy. I gave him my number and asked if he'd like to get coffee some time. I hope he calls.”_ Beside it, a grainy cell phone picture of Steve sitting across from Bucky at a booth.

Another page: _“Becca doesn't want me dating Steve. She won't tell me why it's a bad idea. All I get are cryptic responses about someone named Brock. I know it's hard for her, but sometimes I want to scream 'I don't remember anyone named Brock!' Steve's different, though. He doesn't make me feel like a freak. He doesn't ask me about my injuries. It's like my injuries are a non-issue for him. Best of all, he makes me feel good about myself.”_

The page after: _“Steve went with me to Anna-Ikaika's wedding lu'au tonight. We danced. Do you have any idea how much I miss dancing? It felt a little weird at first, needing someone to hold me upright, but Steve made it seem so natural. Being in his arms is the most content I've ever felt. We kissed at the end of the night. He's a really good kisser!”_

Steve flipped another page to find more writing: _“I realized something tonight at the lu'au. Steve doesn't like having people talk about his military service. It's not something I'm in a position to understand. He's a genuine hero but wears the mantle with much discomfort. Maybe something bad happened and talking about it reminds him of the bad thing? Or maybe he knows society expects him to answer in one fashion, and that answer is contrary to how he feels? What I know for sure is that he's so sad and has so much angst built up that he can hardly breathe. What can we do to help?”_

Their lives together were laid out before him in numerous journal entries containing the memories of their relationship. Some were hard to read. Especially the ones that dealt with Steve's anger issues. Bucky always stressed that he never felt afraid of Steve but that sometimes Steve's temper intimidated him. And fuck, he hadn't realized how much his temper could affect the people around him, even when they weren't the object of his aggression at the time.

It may have been hard to read, but the commentary was real and told him so much about how Bucky processed their relationship. How he stored each memento as something precious. The little things were just as important to him, like the time Steve had shown up at Bucky's work pretending to be a flower delivery person to surprise his boyfriend with a bouquet.

One entry stuck out in particular: _“I stayed at Steve's house tonight. He had a nightmare and kept calling out for Sharon's aunt. I couldn't piece everything together, but it sounded like their unit was under attack by aliens and he couldn't get to Peggy quickly enough. He woke up drenched in sweat and didn't want me touching him, so I backed off and gave him space. He won't talk about these things with me. I don't really have a right to make him, but I'm worried he'll become dissociated from the memories and eventually become distant. I don't know what to do.”_

Steve bolstered himself a conversation he didn't really want to have but one that needed to happen. His therapist kept pressuring him to express his feelings more, kept insisting that talking about his experiences with people who supported him would help to process them.

“We did a wormhole jump to Mars. Me, and the rest of the Howlies. It was our fourth jump, I think.” He paused briefly to collect his thoughts. “Command wanted to establish a base colony there. Fury thought we could at least use the site for weapons testing to avoid poisoning Earth's atmosphere.

“So we went with the necessary supplies to build the outpost. Peggy was my girlfriend at the time. She worked as an auxiliary to SRA operations and was in command of setting up the colony. Things were great during the first half of the mission. We were scheduled to be deployed there for six months. Everything was routine. Normal.

“On day,” he continued, “we were drilling holes for support foundations on what would have been the lab when we struck something. Our excavators dug down into a vault where we found dozens of corpses. At least we thought they were corpses at the time. They seemed to be mummified. It was some kind of ancient race of aliens we figured had long since gone extinct.

“Anyhow, HQ asked us to take samples. First time I ever got in a shouting match with one of my team. Danielle Moonstar was an auxiliary Howlie. Her family's heritage is Cheyenne. She was thoroughly against disturbing an ancient burial site. Cited all the disrespect done to Native burial sites by American society over the years. I agreed with her, but my hands were tied. Orders were orders.

“I should have fucking listened to her.” He stopped to drain the rest of his soda, only then realizing Bucky's hand had come to rest on his forearm. Steve smiled a little. “We extracted two bodies. Peggy was still in the dig site when we loaded them into the Foster Transport. Something happened. The environment inside the transporter machine is calibrated to Earth's atmosphere to allow us to be inside without our space gear. Once they touched the atmosphere, what we thought were corpses reanimated.

“They attacked. Danielle was killed.” Talking about it was getting harder. He stopped more often. “Once they got free of the transporter environment, they... They were bigger than us. Stronger. Faster. Protocol says that in the event of compromise, I am to call for an immediate fall back to the transporter machine. If we lost the transporter, we'd be stuck on Mars with no way of getting home.

“But Peggy was still down in the dig site. How was I supposed to leave her behind? She was cut off from the rest of us with no way of defending herself against two of those damn things, so I ignored protocol and went to retrieve her. There was a rock slide. She was trapped inside the dig site, and I had to pull out the stones in order to get to her.

“By the time we got back, the aliens had concentrated their efforts on destroying the transporter tech. That's where I got my scar.” He indicated the thick scarring that roped up his side from hip to armpit. “We managed to fight our way through, but several of our team members had already perished. If I hadn't gone back for her, eleven people would have survived. The transporter held together long enough for our team to make the jump back to Earth.”

He was quiet for several moments. Bucky gave him the space to be in the emotions. Eventually, he continued, “Peggy never forgave me for making that call, for sacrificing those people to save her. We broke up just a few weeks later when it became clear we were drifting apart. She moved back to England and took a job at MI6. Now she's the chief of operations there.”

Bucky said, “You've had to make a lot of impossible choices in your career.”

Just having that acknowledgment loosened some of the tension in his chest. It wasn't that he thought Bucky would reject him over it. It was more that sharing that part of himself left him feeling vulnerable, so he leaned to rest his head in Bucky's lap and allowed his boyfriend to card fingers through his hair. Allowing himself to take that kind of comfort broke loose something that had existed as solid concrete inside his chest for years.


	18. Bucky Rogers And His Thoroughly Awesome Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy and triumph.

Bucky had a hard time getting Steve's story out of his head. It haunted him for days afterward, more so the halting way his boyfriend had talked about the incident, as though he couldn't bear to relive the moment. Trouble was there wasn't anything he could to ease Steve's pain. All he could do was continue to offer what support and comfort he was able to give and keep encouraging Steve to talk about the incident with the numerous people around him who loved him.

A sense of foreboding weighed the atmosphere when he pulled into the staff parking lot at the correctional facility. Police cars and an ambulance were parked near the main entrance with their lights flashing. EMTs exited the building with a stretcher. Upon it rested a body, a white sheet drawn over the corpse's head to protect the identity beneath. It wasn't a common occurrence but not so rare either.

He didn't suspect anything momentous until he neared his classroom to find Isaiah leaning up against the wall, his face a mask of stoicism, biceps bulging with muscle. 

Dread settled into the pit of Bucky's stomach. His heart rate increased.

“It was one of my kids, wasn't it?”

“Yeah, Mr. Bee. The USO Family got into it with members of the Company. Taleek was killed during the in-fighting. We found him in the laundry this morning. He'd lost too much blood. The coroner has already been and called it.” The weight of the situation settled upon them. “Man, I'm so sorry. I know how much those kids mean to you.”

Bucky swallowed heavily. He nodded to accept the information and fought to repress the tears that threatened in the wake of the news. The thing was, he wasn't terribly surprised. He'd known Taleek was getting into bad company. He'd tried to steer the kid clear, but sometimes not even his influence could guide them in the right direction.

And sometimes good kids with minor offenses that should never have gotten jail time entered a system stacked against them where they encountered criminal elements that changed their lives forever. They went in figuring society was against them, figuring they couldn't do anything right and came our hardened criminals. Or in Taleek's case, in a body bag.

“He shouldn't have even been in here,” he finally breathed. “He stole food, Isaiah. To feed his sisters since his dad is an alcoholic who can't hold down a job. Thirty bucks worth of food, and they send him to prison like an animal because he didn't have anyone to fight for him and the system is riddled with people who've already given up on black youths.”

“I know,” his colleague agreed.

“What are we even doing here?” He lifted his glance to meet the other man's. “If we can't save a good kid like Taleek, what the Hell are we doing?”

“We're here for kids like Deshawn. For kids like Hakim. He's gonna get a second chance because of you, Mr. Bee. Because you gave a fuck about him when no one else did. We keep doing it because saving two out of six is a damn good outcome.”

“What am I going to tell them?”

“Most of them know already, but you tell them the truth. Taleek was killed because of gang violence. Because he thought no one else in the world cared enough to understand how lost he was. Then you tell them they don't need to be lost anymore when they've got you in their corner.”

Bucky nodded to accept the advice and was grateful for the comfort when Isaiah closed a meaty hand around his shoulder and squeezed. Thinking about that bright, happy face being forever gone from the world left him feeling heavy. One of the brightest kids he knew would become nothing more than a sad statistic of a culture that bled a 'go it alone' attitude, forgetting that when a person was reared from birth believing they had no future but crime, then they knew no other way to behave.

People had forgotten that the American Dream was heavily dependent on a person receiving the support, encouragement, and resources necessary to do well in school and the motivation to go after something better for themselves. The Haves acquired those things in spades. The Have Nots faced a massive uphill battle that would never allow them to be quite on the same footing.

After Isaiah left, Bucky maneuvered his chair into the art room. He went about setting up for the day's lesson with a heavy heart, but his colleague had been right. All the kids already knew about Taleek's death and handled it in their own unique way.

Hakim brought in an origami flower made of bright construction paper and settled it on Taleek's easel. Josiah, who had been closest to Taleek, asked if they could have a minute of silence at the start of class to recognize their missing student. Nick, ever gruff, barreled his way through it like a bull in a China shop, with foul language and the insinuation Taleek had gotten what was coming to him but settled quickly with a harsh glance from Josiah. And by the end of class, Nick squeezed Josiah's shoulder to express wordless comfort and support.

Cameron quietly accepted the loss and was there to stroke Hakim's hair when the kid became overwhelmed with emotion. Deshawn, who arrived later than the others, settled a can of Mountain Dew on the seat Taleek had once occupied. Everyone knew it was Taleek's favorite. That kid drank Mountain Dew like an addict and was known to make ridiculous trades just to get his hands on it.

Class was a subdued affair, and when it became obvious the kids wouldn't be able to concentrate on their artwork, he asked them to set aside their pencils and circle their chairs. Nick Nicked his way through “the touchy-feely bullshit” while simultaneously making sure his chair was close enough to Josiah so the kid didn't have to give up contact with him.

They talked about Taleek's death and what it meant to them. They talked about gang violence. They talked about what it meant to be a minority in the justice system. They acknowledged what they could have done differently so that their lives hadn't spiraled into jail time. Most of all, they talked about their families, how Hakim's mother had come to visit him for the first time, and Josiah's mom had finally forgiven him for being caught with marijuana.

Near the end of class, Cameron, barely above the sound of a mouse, said, “My dad used to molest me. It was fine when he was doing it to me.” Hakim pinched his wrist. “Okay, it wasn't fine. I could handle it when he was doing to me, but when I found out he'd started in on my little brother, that was the last straw. I beat him so bad he was in ICU for a month.

“Most of the time there's so much noise going on in my head I can't think straight. And I'm afraid that when they let me outta here, I'm gonna do something real bad. I won't even mean to. Someone's gonna say something to piss me off, and I'll go to prison for murder. Why would my dad do that to us?”

Bucky's heart broke. He reached over to squeeze Cameron's free hand. “I'm so proud of you for opening up like that with us. There are people who can help. If you'd like me to look into it for you. People who can help you with your anger and to overcome what was forced on you.”

Nick opened his mouth.

Bucky and Hakim shot him a warning glare.

Nick closed his mouth, opened it again, and finally said, “That's rough, Man. But you got your boo to help you stay on the straight and narrow now. Don't piss off that fucker.” He pointed to Hakim. “He's fucking scary when he's pissed off.”

Everyone laughed.

Bucky said, “Language. But I agree with the sentiment. Let the people who love you help. Suffering in silence doesn't make you a man; it makes you worse.”

They were all quietly absorbed in their own thoughts for a few minutes before Bucky finally broke it by saying, “Next week, we'll go back to working on our perspectives. If any of you need someone to talk to privately, you have my number. It doesn't matter how alone you think you are. You've got me.”

“Why'd you have to go and make things weird, Teach?” asked Nick.

They were still laughing when Bucky excused them at the end of class, figuring that had gone about as well as anyone could have expected it to given the circumstances. Isaiah and Eli met him after class, and the three of them went out for a bite to ease the tension from the heaviness of the day. They refused to let him use his fake ID to order alcohol. Being members of law enforcement and all.

***

He was running on a record stretch of good days when he bumped into Steve at Tamashiro Fish Market. Bucky's birthday was in a couple of days, and Dad was throwing a BBQ. He was there to get some swordfish for Dad's special recipe when he noticed a fantastic ass bent over a table pointing out some choice morsels of fish for purchase. The way the guy's jeans pulled tight across his butt made Bucky want to fan himself, and he spent a good thirty seconds reminding himself he had a boyfriend and shouldn't be ogling anyone else's ass.

Then the hot ass turned around to reveal Steve's face. Really, he should have recognized his boyfriend's ass from a mile away given how often he'd been up on it lately. They'd been fucking like rabbits, or at least as much as his condition comfortably allowed, so there was no excuse.

Deciding to play a joke, he maneuvered his chair closer and extended his hand. “Hi, Bucky Barnes.”

Steve's expression fell, but he accepted the hand anyway. “Steve Rogers.”

He couldn't pull it off any longer, though, and wound up laughing. “Kidding. I remember who you are today. My butt's still a little sore from sex last night, by the way. We either need more lube or an ass-stretcher. Kinda like a hat stretcher only for my ass.”

Steve flattened his expression to one of displeasure only to burst out laughing. He then dipped low to steal a quick kiss. “We should take it easy until your butt has recovered.” He went on to say, “You're mean. Why would you tease me about your memory issues?”

“Because you'll still love me afterward.” Bucky craned his neck to see what Steve was buying. “Getting ready for something special?”

“Sharon and Luis can't get away from the food truck and asked me to stop by to pick up some supplies for them. You?”

“Birthday party fixings.”

“It's okay if I invite the gang, right?”

“Of course! They're basically attached to your hip anyway. As long as they've forgiven me for rejecting you, destroying your self-esteem, and plunging you into months of post-relationship depression. In which case, I'd rather not deal with the evil glares at my birthday part.”

Steve laughed again. “No, they've forgiven you.” After collecting his purchases, Steve strolled along beside Bucky's chair. “So my semester ends next month. I'm scheduled to deploy at the end of April. Have you given any more thought to my suggestion?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you've given thought to it, or yes, you agree to come with me?”

“Both.”

Watching the delight spread across Steve's expression melted Bucky's insides. The guy whooped, cupped Bucky's face, and leaned down for a thorough kiss, the kind of kiss that got people suggesting they should get a room or to not do it in front of the kids. He really could have cared less what any of the homophobes had to say about it in that moment.

When the kiss broke, Bucky said, “I've talked to Isaiah and Eli, and they're cool with extending the semester break by another month, but I'll have to back here in late August for the start of the next session, so I'll need to leave about a month before you're scheduled to return.”

“That's fine. Ms. Potts is willing to arrange a chopper to bring you out at the end of your current semester and get you back ahead of time. We'll still have several months together.”

“I only have one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Ask me to marry you again before you ship out.”

"You remember that?" Steve's heart stuttered a few beats.

Bucky nodded, a small smile lighting up his expression.

Steve's face softened only to turn impish moments later. “I don't know. Last time I did that, it didn't go so well for me. I'm thinking maybe it's your turn to do the proposing.”

He slid from the edge of his chair and started struggling down onto knee only for his boyfriend to catch him by the armpits, a look of horror in his face, and urge him back into his chair.

“Please, skip the whole one knee bit, Doll. Love hurts but not your knees.”

Grinning, he reached into his pants pocket and produced the ring he'd been carrying around for the past month. It was a simple silver band. The jewelry had molded the ring with a wax cast of Bucky's thumbprint pressed into the molten silver.

“I'm better with pictures than with words. You know this about me, right? So when I say that I love and want to marry you, please insert some romantic speech about the depths of my love and how much you've changed my life. Because you have. I never would have had the courage to move out and live on my own. I certainly never would have fought to have a relationship, no matter how unconventional.

“You're an amazing man. I watch you struggle to rewrite your own life every day while at the same time devoting so much of your energy to sustaining our relationship. You overwhelm me, Sweetheart. I want to marry you. If you'll have me.”

For the space of a breath, he relived that day a the park and was terrified Steve would pay him back for being rejected. He needn't have worried, though. Steve broke out into a huge smile and came down to Bucky's level by taking his knee in front of the wheelchair.

“Yes. I'll marry you. Today. Tomorrow. Whenever you'll have me.” He extended his hand.

Tears in his eyes, Bucky slipped the ring onto his finger, much to the delight of most of the crowd surrounding them. The place smelled like fish, salt, and too many bodies packed too closely in the sun. Fishmongers shouted about their merchandise to attract attention, and footage of Captain America's engagement was posted on social media within seconds after he said yes, but Bucky wouldn't change how it happened for anything. He got to have his happily ever after.

***

Bright music from a steel drum band tickled the beach in front of the Barnes residence. Smoke billowed from a few grills being overseen by Dad, Luis, and Sharon. The scent of cooking food whetted the appetite. People mingled, their laughter the perfect harmony to the steel drums.

Near the surf, Sam and Alani erected ordered rows of chairs, all centrally located to provide the best view of a flower-drenched trellis perfuming the air with cherry and apple blossoms. White fabric billowed and flapped in a gentle breeze.

Bucky waved frantically to Alani, who dropped what she was doing and rushed to meet him. “Help. I can't...” He indicated the spray of flowers meant to be pinned to the linen shirt he wore.

She took the boutonniere from him and pinned it in place with deft fingers. “Oh Bucky. You look wonderful,” she said. “Happy Birthday.”

“Best birthday of my life,” he said with a grin.

“I'm so sorry Becca couldn't make it home in time.”

“Dad's got her on polycom I think, so she'll be able to watch the ceremony at least. Is Steve still here?”

“What?” A peal of laughter escaped with the question. “Of course he is. Sam says he'll be ready in fifteen minutes, so if you want to hang out here until then... Mom's giving the minister a last minute lecture on doing everything perfectly.”

“Your mom is terrifying.”

“He should just be grateful Tutu didn't get to him first.”

Bucky silently agreed. Anna-Ikaika's field wherein she grew her fudges was barren. She liked to say that she was much too old to worry about silly things like propriety and manners. That was one woman who had zero filters between her brain and her mouth.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of Steve strolling from the side entrance of the house along with a Catholic priest and a traditional kahu or holy man. The kahu's head was adorned with a haku lei, a head garland of vibrant greens, and took his place beside the family priest. Steve, meanwhile, moved to stand just in front of the two holy men, resplendent in a pair of linen pants and an airy shirt.

The kahu blew into a conch shell, the tenor note bright and triumphant as it called people to their seats and signaled the start of the ceremony. People moved away from their various groupings to settle in. There weren't enough chairs. More guests had arrived than he'd anticipated. One in particular made Bucky's heart clench. Deshawn was standing off to the side beside his mother.

Moments later, Dad strummed the wedding march on his ukelele, which signaled Bucky and Alani to start making their way down the aisle. He'd insisted on walking. If there was one time he wanted to go somewhere on his own steam, it was down the aisle to meet his new husband, so he rose from his chair, balanced against Alani's strong arm, and made his way toward Steve.

The way Steve's eyes lit up made him forget about his shuffling gate. It made him forget about the tremble of his legs. It made him forget everything but the man who'd blasted into his life on a rocket ship and turned everything upside down in the best way possible. The guests faded into the background, as though his groom and he slid into a world built just for two.

He nearly collapsed into Steve's arms when he arrived, but his husband was quick to gather him up and lend him the strength to continue standing. Happiness made his heart skip a few beats.

“Bucky Barnes,” he introduced himself.

“Steve Rogers.”

Steve selected one of the green leis the kahu carried and draped it around Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky mirrored the action. The leis symbolized their love and devotion to one another.

Dad draped a flowered lei around Steve's neck to accept the man into his household. Sam draped a flowered lei around Bucky's neck to symbolize the same. Then, Bucky and Steve presented leis to Sam and Alani to thank them for standing up as their witnesses.

Only then did Father Michael begin the western portion of the ceremony. The priest performed a short service extolling the virtues of marriage and the sacred union they were joining into before leading them through their vows. Following the exchange of vows, the kahu accepted the wedding rings from Sam to recite a traditional prayer asking for blessings on the marriage and many decades of happiness. Only then were they allowed to slip the wedding bands onto each other's fingers.

Father Michael intoned, “It is my great privilege to pronounce you husbands. You may kiss your groom. We all know that's what you've been dying to do anyway.”

Both men laughed. Steve's hands cupped Bucky's cheeks, and their lips met in a tender kiss. No lewd display in front of family and friends for Steve and Bucky. They shared something sweet and meaningful, Bucky leaning heavily against his husband's strength. And when they parted, the conch shell blew another clear note to signal the end of the ceremony.

Bucky couldn't stop smiling but knew his strength was at its end and reached blindly for the motorized chair Alani should have brought closer. His new husband helped him into it and stole another kiss before they turned to greet their guests, their numbers magnified by every single member of the Howling Commandos and Shield.

The last thing he expected to see, though, was Becca standing at the end of the aisle in her dress uniform. His heart skipped with joy.

“Becca, you made it!”

It was the only encouragement she needed to hurry up the aisle to take her brother into her arms. “Managed to get some last minute leave and caught the very last plane out to get here in time. You didn't think I was gonna miss my baby brother's twenty-first birthday? And his wedding day, did you?”

“I'm so glad you're here.” He muffled his words against her uniform.

“I'm so proud of you, Champ.” She gave him a squeeze before standing and clasping hands with Steve. “And you.” She jabbed her finger in his direction.

“I know, I know. If I hurt him, I die.”

That made her laugh. “Come on, I had the perfect shovel speech written out. You ruined it.”

Father Michael whisked them away to sign their marriage license, and Leolani came behind to force them to pose for wedding pictures while their guests enjoyed cocktails on the beach. One particular photo, Bucky standing cradled in Steve's arms while his husband gazed down at him with abject adoration on his face, wound up on their fireplace mantel for decades to come.

The reception and lu'au were an informal affair. People ate straight from the grill or at the various buffet area scattered around the beach. There were a few tables set up, but mostly people mingled, filling the air with a buzz of pleasant conversation.

As nightfall came, someone lit torches to illuminate the area, casting long shadows across the beach. Dad and Becca got a fire going about that time, too, and Bucky watched sparks shower like orange fireflies into the sky. Peace settled easily on his shoulders.

Luis was generous with doling out the pineapple-based cocktail he'd created for the occasion, something he referred to as a Buck Rogers. Bucky may have gone a little overboard drinking them. Thankfully, he didn't vomit on anyone's shoes.

Just before they were going to start their first dance, Isaiah rushed over holding out his cell phone to indicate Bucky had a call. Bucky put the phone to his ear only to hear several voices raised in unison proclaiming “Happy Ball and Chain Day!” His eyes welled with tears. He could make out Nick's deep voice, Hakim's musical sound, Cameron's softer tones, and Josiah's timidness.

They welcomed Steve to the family and warned him off hurting Bucky. Again. Because they claimed that being a bunch of criminals, they knew more ways to make him suffer than anyone else. Steve took the threats in good spirits and promised to drop by some time to visit their classroom.

After the call, Steve helped him from his chair to lead him into the middle of the wooden floor that had been set up for dancing. One thick arm slid around Bucky's waist and took most of his weight. The other curled around Bucky's fingers. Roberta Flack crooned the opening lines of the First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, prompting Steve to move them around the dance floor.

Bucky couldn't help the tear that tracked down his face. He didn't want to help it. He wanted to revel in the happiness warming his insides. Never once did his gaze break from Steve's.

“I'm so happy,” he said.

“Me too, Buck.”

“What was I thinking when I turned you down the first time? Why in the world did I deny us this? We could have been married months ago.”

“Let's forget about that. Right now, the only thing that matters is that we made it here. You're my husband. I'm yours, and we can make anything work as long as we do it together.”

A smile lighting his face, Bucky went up onto tip-toes and pressed their mouths together, prompting the crowd surrounding them to coo over the display of affection. As if they had any aspirations that the newlyweds wouldn't be all over each other.

Hours spent eating, enjoying the company of his family, dancing with his husband, and being dragged front and center by the hula dancers to take part left Bucky exhausted. He still would have stayed, though. Didn't matter if his eyes were beginning to droop. He could legally drink and was married and didn't want the day to end, especially not when he might wake in the morning and remember none of it, which was the real reason he fought sleep.

Eventually, though, Steve said their goodbyes for the evening and bundled him into the van for the trip to Honolulu where they would spend the weekend in a resort. It wasn't like they'd had time to plan a real honeymoon. Taking a trip could be revisited at some point after Steve's research missions.

He maneuvered his chair through into their suite and sagged, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms draped over the armrests. He exclaimed with a rush of exhalation, “Best day ever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned up for a kiss and tried rising. The feat was too much for his exhausted body, for legs that had done more standing and walking in one day than he had since the accident, so he slumped back into his wheelchair.

“You want some help?”

Bucky nibbled his bottom lip and nodded, holding his arms out for Steve, who scooped him out of his chair and carried him through to the bedroom to settle him against the bedspread. From there, he watched his husband putter around unpacking for the weekend. The other man didn't even need to be instructed on arranging the ostomy supplies in the bathroom. He knew the routine by heart already.

“Do you want anything from room service?” Steve asked.

“Ugh. I don't think I can look at food for the next year. Do I have a food baby? 'Cause I feel like I have a food baby.” He patted his stomach where delicious fish and pork and various other fare digested. “You could, if you want, rub my feet.” He wiggled his toes inside his sandals.

His husband sank onto the foot of the bed, removed them, and pressed his thumbs into the arches of Bucky's feet, prompting Bucky to moan over the delicious sensation. Relaxation settled him against the pillow, and he traced the toes of his other foot up the inside seam of Steve's slacks. They reached the zenith. He wiggled them against the heaviness of his husband's groin and delighted in the rush of color into Steve's cheeks, the way the man's cock began to fill so readily.

Strong fingers worked their way up his calf beneath the leg of his pants, skin sliding against skin and sending electric charges straight through his spine. Between one moment and the next and despite his lewd intentions, sleep stole him away. He fell gently, a contented smile on his face.

They made up for it the next morning after a sumptuous breakfast, and it became a source of teasing between them, how Bucky Barnes had fallen asleep on his wedding night.

After that weekend, they moved into an adorable, two bedroom bungalow in a quiet neighborhood not far from the beach. Their landlord, an older woman named Angie, invited them for tea weekly and looked the other way when they adopted a Papillon puppy they named Stitches.


	19. Samanya Rogers Loves Walruses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

Bucky woke to a strange environment, heart clenching with a moment of panic. The appointments around him were sumptuous. The bedsheets upon which he rested were expensive. No one was beside him, and he felt a strange sense of disappointment, as though there should be someone resting there who wasn't. Solid weight on his hand brought his attention to an engagement and wedding ring.

He sat up. On the nightstand beside him, he found a remote control. His own handwriting instructed him to “turn on the television and press play.” Not wanting to disobey his own instructions, he did. The screen flared to life. Happy music started playing.

A message appeared on the screen that read, “Everything is going to be okay... but here are a few things you missed this year.” Short snippets of various important events from the past year followed: Bernie Sanders being inaugurated followed by the word “Kidding!” A picture of a Cheetos with Trump's face attached taking the oath of office. Then, the words “Not kidding.” There were photos of the Women's March from around the World, the bombing of the Manchester Ariana Grande concert, scenes from the March for Science, and photos of the reconstruction of New York.

More snippets came after. Photos showed Bucky kissing a blond man slipping a ring onto Bucky's finger and following it with a kiss. A wedding on Bucky's twenty-first birthday. At least he'd been able to drink at his own reception! 

He paused the video there, and good lord, he looked so ridiculously happy.

Grinning, he touched the screen and murmured, “Steve.” Then came a flash of memories filled with laughter and golden hair and eyes that weren't so sad anymore, a life lived together.

Back on the screen, he pushed play to watch himself and his husband in the cockpit of... The Captain America, his brain supplied. There was video footage of them playing guitar together, footage of Steve racing out of the harbor on a boat with a team of Sea Life employees to save a whale entangled with industrial fishing nets, and images of Marvel being released back into the wild.

The scene changed again to a courthouse and a young woman standing beside a Syrian youth. Newspaper clippings indicated “Sentence Commuted for Syrian Youth.” The article explained that a judge had thrown out the original life sentence for Hakim Antoun, lowering it to fifteen yes with the option for parole. In a following photo, Hakim's foot popped behind him while he kissed Cameron.

Tears flooded his eyes. 

They continued falling as the recording transitioned to an airport scene. A woman wearing an official looking badge came through the terminal carrying a baby on her hip. The camera panned out to show Steve and Bucky standing hand in hand. A look of absolute joy and awe overwhelmed their faces when the woman settled the baby into Steve's waiting arms.

Pictures of adoption papers followed. Their daughter was named Samanya Rogers. She was of the Bantu people in South Africa and had come into their lives after a desperate call from Carol Danvers following a meteor strike that had decimated the local ecology and killed most of Samanya's village.

He had a daughter. He was married and had the most beautiful daughter, who had big, soulful eyes an adorable wide nose, and full lips. The phantom sensation of those lips pressing against his cheek left him reeling with stunned emotion. His family. He remembered his family.

The video went on to display, “You might not remember these events because...” that was followed by footage of news clippings detailing an accident. They indicated that Dad had been driving when a stray cow had darted in front of their car. Dad hadn't been able to correct well enough to avoid impact against a tree. Following were photos of Bucky just after the accident.

Then, Steve appeared on screen. “Aloha, Bucky. I'm Steve Rogers. The day we got married was the happiest of my life, but every day with you is an adventure. We met about a year after your accident and embarked on a whirlwind romance that involved lots of first kisses and introductions, but I wouldn't have it any other way. You're the love of my life.

“I know you're probably feeling overwhelmed right now, so take a few minutes and let everything sink in. Your journals are in the top drawer of the night stand. Look through them, and when you're ready to talk we'll be waiting for you.”

Eager to start the day and meet this man he'd married and the child they were rearing together, he ignored the journals in favor of getting dressed. In his excitement, he forgot his legs didn't work as well as they once had and almost fell on his ass in between moving from the bed to a compact motorized chair.

Signs directed him toward an elevator. He maneuvered himself from inside into a great room. Beyond the windows, the world stretched out into an endless sea of blue water and white ice. The yacht was anchored off the coast of a landmass.

Wonder filled him. A woman came toward him with a smile and holding out a coat and scarf.

“They're upstairs on the flybridge.”

“I'm sorry, I don't...”

“Rachel Summers.” She offered her hand. “I'm your home health aide and Sammy's nanny.”

He shook her hand and stared dumbly back through the windows. “How do I get...?”

After donning the coat and scarf, he followed her directions to another elevator that took him up another floor. He exited onto an exterior flybridge at the top of the yacht where he stared in awe at the domestic bliss waiting for him.

Steve finished putting Sammy's tight curls into puff-balls on either side of her skull and crouched down to sing the alphabet song. Their daughter-- Good gravy, wasn't that something to marvel over. They had a daughter. Bucky was a father.

Their daughter squealed in delight whenever Steve clapped their hands together 

Beside them, Dad laid out breakfast dishes, stopping now and then to tug Sammy's pig tails, which also made her screech with laughter. She babbled something in her native Kirundi.

She was the first to notice him. Giggling, she happily cried, “Baba!” Little arms stretched toward him, joy lighting up her plump face. “Papa, is Baba!”

Steve glanced up, joy settling into something fond and lovely.

Behind them, Dad said, “Come and have some breakfast, Champ.”

“After I've met my husband and daughter.”

He maneuvered his chair closer and lifted the girl from her high chair to pull her into his lap, at which point, she buried her cold nose against his neck. He breathed her in. She smelled like baby powder and maple, and the tight curls on her head tickled his nose. Their daughter. Both arms closed tightly around her to cradle her close, eyes locking with Steve's, who smiled tenderly.

They were his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who commented, sent kudos, and cheered these two goofballs along.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completely written, so I will be posting chapters regularly as I get done editing them.
> 
> Come and visit with me on [Tumblr](http://marleymortis.tumblr.com/)


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